


Harmonious Mayhem

by StarReads



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Band Fic, But in like a monster way, Canon Typical Horror, Comedy, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Leitner hunting, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mentioned Jurgen Leitner, Micheal uses He/They/It pronouns, Mild Language, Multi, No beta we kayak like Tim, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Gerard Keay, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Relationships, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, as a treat, fuck Jurgen Leitner, fucked up books, if you're here for the WTGFS they take awhile to actually appear, mild violence, only ocassionally, rated t for cursing and also a little murder, same goes for jonmartin, switching POVs, this is mostly lighthearted
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:53:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29212203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarReads/pseuds/StarReads
Summary: "I haven't played the guitar in years," Gerry protested weakly. They knew there was no way Mike was going to budge on this, but a man could dream."It's like riding a bike. Once you learn you never really forget," Mike said, taking another sip of his tea. He made a face; it had probably gone cold by now. That or he put too much sugar into it. Mike hated sweets almost as much as he hated the floral tea Gerry liked. Tea snob."I never learned how to ride a bike," Gerry said, though his voice was clearly resigned."Sounds like a you problem," Mike said, leaning onto the table. Gerry kicked him, and the blonde cursed under his breath.  Gerry would pay for that later, but in the moment it was very satisfying.In which Gerry and Mike find love, friendship, and the power of Music! (And incredible acts of violence. Can't forget the violence!)
Relationships: Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Gerard Keay & Everyone, Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley, Helen Richardson & Everyone, Helen Richardson & Jonathan "Jon" Sims, Jude Perry/Jane Prentiss, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Micheal "Mike" Crew & Gerard "Gerry" Keay, Micheal "Mike" Crew & Nikola Orsinov, Oliver Banks/Michael "Mike" Crew, Sasha James & Martin K. Blackwood & Tim Stoker & Jonathan Sims, Sasha James/Tim Stoker, Simon Fairchild & Everyone but make it ~violent!, all these other tags are platonic
Comments: 14
Kudos: 37





	1. Doors Opened

**Author's Note:**

> This was a crackfic idea that I'm taking seriously. It's nowhere near finished and I'm not sure how long it'll take me to write each chapter, but if it's anything like my other fic, expect at least two chapters a month. Enjoy! 
> 
> (Light content warning for the first chapter: Mentions of violence, death, burning/heat, and some mild body horror.)

Gerry opened the door to the small bookshop cautiously, slowly peeking into the building. There was no one standing at the till, and the air was so still inside the shop he could taste the dust in it. He tried not to sigh and alert whoever owned this shop that he was entering. It was always better to be safe when it came to Lietners. The kinds of people who bought them were always either unwitting bystanders or dangerous monsters, no in-between. This particular Lietner promised to be a difficult one. Anything Spiral-related always made things unpredictable. Which for the Spiral, was expected. In a way, the predictability of the Spiral's unpredictability was comforting. Certainly a lot easier to deal with then the Corruption or the Lonely. 

They looked over their shoulder before slipping into the building. This Lietner had originally been part of a trio, three Lietners that seemed to always crop up together and caused chaos everywhere they went, but something had gone wrong and they'd been separated. Gerry had a hunch that someone had caught wind that he and Mike were planning to destroy them and had scattered the books to prevent that. Not that it had helped, obviously, since here he was, standing in the middle of some sleepy bookstore in a forgotten corner of London. They had managed to track down two of the books, the aforementioned Spiral Lietner (a cursed copy of Alice In Wonderland) and an untitled Desolation Leitner. Mike had opted for the Desolation, and Gerry couldn't blame him for it. Mike had had enough encounters with the Spiral for one lifetime. 

Hopefully he could avoid a similar fate. They would rather not be chased by some stray aspect of the Twisting Deceit for the rest of their life, thank you very much. He did enough chasing himself to last a lifetime. Taking care to mind his steps, he approached the till, looking around the shop for any books that stood out to him in a supernatural way. He could usually tell when the great Voyeur was trying to tell him something. Not that he had to like it, just that he was usually able to feel it's influence. Everything in him was screaming to check the till, though, so he figured that was probably where the book was. They leaned over the counter to check for drawers, and sure enough, there were three of them. The middle one called to them, and Gerry tried the handle. Predictably, it was locked. He grumbled to himself, stepping backwards to round the corner.

He knew how to pick locks, so it was really more of an inconvenience than anything. Lock-picking was the one skill they had that Mike didn't. He had used it all the time to get to Leitner's before the vast avatar could, much to Mike's chagrin. There was nothing quite as satisfying as knowing he was fucking over his greatest rival and destroying a Leitner at the same time. He almost missed it, but having a regular ally was nice too. It was certainly easier than hunting alone. Mike was usually better equipped to buy out the rich old men who are just so desperate to get their hands on cursed books, and Gerry was better at...well, things that bordered on felonies. Like picking locks and rifling around drawers.

The lock opened quickly, more quickly than any lock really should. The owner might as well have used a bread tie, it would have been more effective. It was surprising to find the only thing in the drawer was the book in question. It really should have been hidden better than this, considering it's value. How much did Mike say it had been sold for? Seventy-five thousand pounds? Certainly it was worth more than the shop it was in. Gerry had a nagging suspicion he was being set up. They slid their hands into the pocket of their oversized leather jacket and pulled out a pair of latex gloves. Rule number one of Leitner hunting: never touch anything with your bare hands. Mike had to learn that one the hard way.

The book was old, probably the closest to an original print there was, though Gerry knew it was not made by the same author. The book was bound in a soft material, perhaps sheepskin, and on the front was a small drawing of a pure white rabbit holding a pocket watch. Its eyes were off, somehow, and the longer Gerry stared at it, the more it unnerved him. The last person to have read the book had been pretty incoherent, but he got the feeling that the rabbit was probably a very real threat. Gerry could try burning it, but he doubted that would help. It might just free the thing. Mike had suggested tossing it into his domain, so that was probably what they would do. Less work for Gerry either way. 

Gerry stood up, still holding the book, and looked around. There was still no sign of the owner. In fact, the shop felt almost abandoned. Gerry tightened his jaw, turning to examine the back wall for another exit or entrance. Surely the front door couldn't be the only one in the shop? They couldn't find anything, though, and their heart rate was starting to rise. He could feel the Eye screaming at him to get out of there. Usually, he'd do the opposite just to spite the thing, but he was starting to get suspicious.

A loud creak echoed through the silent bookstore, a single, deafening tone. Gerry's blood turned to ice in their veins. He quickly tucked the Leitner under his arm, his other hand reaching for the knife on his belt. Fear shot through them, but they quickly swallowed it. Whether the threat was supernatural or just the owner of the bookstore he had technically robbed, it wouldn't pay to let their fear get the best of them. There was a strange buzzing quality to the air, like a physical version of a grainy photograph. Gerry looked back, quickly turning on his heel to face whoever had just entered the room, boots screeching against the wood floors. 

It was tall. That was the only consistent thing about it, the looming size of the thing. It stretched out almost to the roof, sprawling out of a bright yellow door that had definitely not been there before. It looked like a Picasso painting, but clearly not one that had ever made it into a museum. It was all jagged angles and bright colors and textures that made his eyes hurt. Bits of it were perhaps made of stained glass, some of it seemed to be torn straight from a magazine. Its long hair, though it was really not hair at all, was straw yellow and impossibly curly. Gerry was pretty sure some of the locks of hair were moving independent of the thing's body. Its clothes, though Gerry could hardly see them for all the colors in his ears, were simple, drawn on as if decorating a seven-year-old's stick figure. Its eyes were a blue-green-red-yellow-impossible swirl and they bore right through him. Its smile was too wide for a face, too sharp for prey but too friendly to be a predator. Gerry's head swam the longer they looked at the thing that was Not a person. He clutched the knife in his hand as tight as he could, battling the growing scream caught in his throat. He would not give it the satisfaction of being afraid. 

It smiled wider, stepping fully into the room. It shouldn't have fit but it did. Gerry tried to stop thinking in terms of physics and concrete reality. They were pretty sure they were dealing with an avatar (aspect? the lines blurred sometimes between the two) of the Spiral, and trying to force things to make sense would be counter-productive. The thing tilted it's head to stare at him. Gerry was actually going to be sick.

"Hello," it said simply. Its voice felt...pleasant, all things considered. A bit like trying to hear through a mirror, but not nearly as bad as looking at it. He blinked, and suddenly things had calmed down a little. It still hurt to look at it, but it had at least stopped spinning. Its face was a little more consistent. The hands, Gerry noted, were wicked sharp, like they were simply long blades with skin stretched over them. "I believe you have something that belongs to us."

Gerry frowned, stepping away from the counter, back still towards the wall. "You mean the Leitner? Because I'm not giving it to you," Gerry said. He debated telling it to piss off, but he really did not want to anger Mx. Knife-Hands unless he had to. He might have to, if it kept blocking the exit. They probably couldn't outrun the thing, but they'd be damned if they didn't try. 

"Why not?" the creature asked. "It is not yours." Gerry was taken aback by how...genuinely confused it seemed. What, did it just think he was going to hand over the people-eating book to the first monster he sees? Gerry wasn't stupid, and they knew if they gave the book to the avatar currently staring at him, it would end up in some innocent person's hands. No way in hell was he risking that. He'd just have to figure out how to get away from it first. 

"Finders keepers," they said, feeling a little like a school boy on the playground, dangling a prized toy over the head of another student. Except this toy could kill people, and the other student could probably just take it if they wanted to. "What would you even do with it? Planning on doing a bit of light reading? It's a classic, you know. "

The thing frowned so hard Gerry could feel it, like acid reflux but a thousand times worse. "You will destroy it. I know of your reputation. I do not want it to be destroyed. Give it here," the thing said slowly. It extended a hand out, fingers sharp and pointed directly at Gerry. Gerry wanted to scream. He really, really hoped someone else would show up soon. 

"You've heard of me? I'm honored, really. Guess I'm a real celebrity in the cursed books scene, then. Just like dear old mum would have wanted," Gerry said. He couldn't help the sarcasm that rolled off his every word. A bit like poking the bear, given the claws in his face, but he never claimed to be a rational person. Mike was always better at dealing with the short-term consequences. 

"Tales of the bookburner and his friend in the sky are common, yes," the thing said. Gerry frowned. That actually was a little concerning. Having a reputation meant that people could be prepared to intercept them. Like today. Maybe he should get a haircut or something. Though with all the tattoos, it probably wouldn't help much. 

"Friend in the sky? You talking about Mike?" Gerry said, trying to keep his tone conversational. Their eyes kept darting to the door. How fast was this thing? Gerry figured if he could get out the door he might have a decent shot, but with an avatar of the Spiral you could never know. For all Gerry knew, he wasn't even in the shop anymore. Or he'd blink and five years would pass. That did scare them, but once again they reminded themself that fear was a luxury they couldn't afford. God knows their flatmate would kill them if they left him to pay rent alone. 

"Maybe," the thing said. "Maybe not. There are things in the sky far less human than the Vast's problem child." Gerry snorted, but quickly stifled it. Problem child indeed. How Mike had managed to avoid getting murdered by another servant of his patron was anyone's guess. Gerry could appreciate the rebelliousness though; fuck the powers that be for thinking that any of them had to play by their rules. And it wasn't like Mike didn't still feed, much as Gerry hated to think about it. 

"The Beholding is not my friend. We're more like...reluctant allies. Casual enemies. It tries to get me to buy it dinner, I destroy it's artefacts, it gives me a migraine...you know how it goes," Gerry said.

"No, I do not. Are all of the Eye's brats like you, or are you just like this?" the thing asked. Gerry shivered slightly at the implication that he was of the Eye. Sure, he used it sometimes, but they were not a fucking avatar. They had spent their whole life fighting these things; just because he had gotten a little more comfortable in the presence of monsters doesn't mean that they were suddenly going to sign their soul away to the Ceaseless Wanker. 

"I am not one of the Beholding's servants. Honestly, I'm offended you think we have anything in common," Gerry snarled. "I'm not a god damn eyeball monster." Maybe getting angry was a bad idea, but he just couldn't help it. 

"The tattoos tell a remarkably different story, bookburner," the monster said. Its eyes traced along his exposed arms all the way to his neck. Gerry resisted the urge to cover it. They were not about to show the thing any sort of weakness whatsoever. He grimaced at the nickname. Monster or not, didn't it know it was impolite to just make up a nickname and use it for someone without asking? 

"Gerry," he spat out. He regretted it, of course, because it was a horrible idea to give your name to a monster, but it was the sort of decision that his mother would have hated. Therefore it was at least marginally okay in his eyes. Maybe still a bit suicidal, but Gerry felt he deserved to be a little spiteful once in a while. "My name's Gerry."

"Names are such funny things," the creature mused, and god damn it Gerry was not about to be monologued to death by a monster with knives for hands. They were regretting their decision to do this alone. Mike would have just tossed the thing off a roof and been done with it by now. Would that even kill it? Gerry wasn't keen on trying it himself. He was pretty sure touching the thing would hurt. "I suppose you may call me Micheal. That is a name, isn't it?"

Gerry noted that the wording implied that Micheal wasn't its name. It made sense; it was too much of the Spiral to need a name. But it still looked too...human, for a creature of the Spiral. Too much like a fucked up human. Almost like a stranger rather than an illusion. Gerry chuckled under their breath at that. "Stealing the Stranger's gimmicks now, are we? Not sure it'd appreciate that," he teased. The thing, Micheal, growled and suddenly its knife-like hands were at his throat. Gerry really needs to stop provoking monsters. 

"Do not compare me to I Do Not Know You so callously, Gerry," Micheal hissed. Gerry strained not to just push him (them? it?) and run. He almost stepped away, but he didn't want to risk cutting himself on Micheal's long fingers. "Give me the book. You are being difficult for no reason."

Gerry swallowed deeply, looking down at the book. There was no way he was going to do that. They would die first. "Sure we can't come to some sort of agreement?" 

Micheal frowned deeply. "What could you possibly have to offer me, bookburner?" Gerry thought quickly, eyes darting around the room. There wasn't a lot he could offer him.

"Say I give you the book. Or you kill me and take it, either or. Mike will still be looking for it. And if he finds out you've hurt me...you're pretty strong, I know, but maybe pissing off all the Vast avatars in London is a bad idea?" Gerry said, carefully. Micheal went quiet, staring at him. There was no goddamn reason for an avatar of the Spiral to be so good at looking at people. If it didn't promise to hurt, he might have tried to See if it was marked. But looking directly at anything pertaining to the Spiral was a headache, literally. After a long moment, Micheal laughed loudly.

"Perhaps you have a point, bookburner. I'll be seeing you," Micheal said. Gerry blinked with all his eyes, and suddenly he was alone in the room. He pulled the book from out under his arms. Nothing was different about it. He looked around, and then quickly exited the building. They were suddenly very, very tired. He supposed that was because of the near-death experience. Later, they'd notice that the eye on his neck had warped slightly, the pupil spiraling around itself. 

  
  
  


Mike hated the Desolation.

That was unfair. Mike hated aspects of the Desolation. Some of its avatars were very cool (Jude being one of them), but the books? They were fucking nasty to deal with. Always smoldering his good clothes and leaving him hacking up his lungs. If anything had put him off smoking, it was Desolation Leitners. He pushed his way into the warehouse, grimacing. It didn't smell like smoke, which was a good sign, but it was still best to be careful. He wasn't Gerry; he wasn't going to rush into a new situation without information. 

The warehouse was still, almost eerily so. It had been abandoned only recently, so evidence of life still existed, scattered around empty crates and lone chairs. Mike got that weird feeling in his head that he always got within liminal spaces. At the very least, he was in his element. Whoever had the book (if they were even enough of a person to be 'who') didn't stand a chance. He moved quickly across the room, making sure to note exits, vents, potential hiding places, anything that he might need in a fight. They weren't close enough to a window for him to use his normal tricks, so he'd have to hope anything in here was human enough to breathe. 

After about ten minutes of searching, Mike started to get worried. He was almost all the way through the warehouse by now, and he hadn't found anything. Alarm bells were ringing in his head, and for a brief moment he envied Gerry. He could just Know if something was off as soon as he entered a room. But then, thinking of all the times Gerry had developed migraines after a mission or suddenly Known something no one should ever have to know, Mike decided he was better off doing things the old fashioned way. Besides, eye imagery didn't suit Mike like it did them. 

He continued his walk through the empty halls and boarded up rooms of the warehouse with trepidation. The air was starting to get warmer, which was a good sign, but there was still no concrete sign of the book. Mike was starting to think this was a red herring. He stopped in the middle of the hall, rubbing at his temple. If he didn't find this book, Mike was going to be pissed. Gerry had busted his back doing research for this case while Mike was in Italy with Simon, and Mike could just picture the look on their face if he showed up empty-handed. They would probably have to start from square one, and at the rate they were going the book might never be found again. They still hadn't found the other one! 

After an hour, he was ready to call it quits. He had walked through the entire building several times now, and he couldn't find the damn book. He could feel it heating up the building, warping plastic and burning the bottom of Mike's shoes (he was thankful that Gerry had leant him a pair of boots, none of Mike's shoes could survive this sort of heat). It was getting ridiculous. His time would be better spent combing thrift stores and discount bookshops then wandering the corridors of a warehouse that had probably never even had the damn book. He probably could have found three Leitners in the time he was wasting here. (A complete exaggeration, of course, but he was frustrated.)

Just as he was about to pop open his domain and go home, he heard the distant sounds of...carnival music. To a normal person, this would be a sign to get the hell out of dodge. It was eerily familiar, just bordering on uncanny, with a strange warbling to it like the music was being played in a room with more echoe than the rest of the building. He gritted his teeth, making his way towards the central room, where the sound was coming from. The whole way there he was fuming, letting his anger crystalize into something cold and dangerous. 

He burst into the room. It was more mild than that, really, just gently pushing aside the steel door, but it felt significantly angrier than normal. At this point he was sweating buckets, heat radiating from the book that he could tell had been here the entire time. It was just being hidden, rather effectively, by a particularly difficult friend of his. "God damn it," he swore, removing a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his face. If he got acne from this he was going to kill her. He might do so anyway, for wasting his time. "What the fuck is your problem, Nikola?" 

"Hello Mike!" she said cheerfully. Mike looked into her lifeless eyes and knew that God was dead. Or else he just had a real sick sense of humor. Sure, maybe this would all be meaningless in the end but god damn it Mike was exhausted. And hot. And he really, really just wanted to destroy the book and go home to take a shower. At this rate he might not make it to Gerry's before nightfall. He stalked over to her, trying to reign in his temper. She was, regrettably, his friend and everyone else would be pissed if he murdered her. 

"Fancy seeing you here, Nikola. What have you got there?" he spat. For someone whose voice was normally so even, he could sound downright nasty when he wanted to. 

"I think...Oh! What a funny coincidence! Isn't this one of your Leitners, Mike?" Nikola said. Her voice was several keys higher than normal, coming out shocked and delicate. Her skin was loose. Mike, in a common moment of pettiness, decided not to mention it. He was sure she'd be embarrassed when she went home and noticed the left side of her cheek had been hanging off her all day. Served her right for making his life so needlessly complicated. 

"Why do you want a Desolation Leitner, Nikola?" he asked blankly. Nikola tilted her head in a mockery of confusion. Fucking theatre kids. (He said, knowing that he had been in every available play in his life.) 

"Oh, I don't! But you do," she said, gesturing towards the book she was holding out to her side. Mike looked between her and the book. He fought back the urge to ask her to speed things up. Nikola did things on her own time. Trying to rush her would probably just make her go slower. He leaned backwards slightly on the air around him. 

"So...are you going to give it to me?" Mike asked. Nikola laughed, shaking her head. Mike was this close to dropping the floor out from under them. Nikola was lucky that she could be pretty funny sometimes. Usually he would have given up by now and just killed her. 

"Maybe!" she said. "Maybe not? I'm not quite sure yet!" Nikola bounced on her heels, smiling wider than ever. It was her evil smile. Not her 'skin you alive and become you' smile, but her 'I'm going to bully one of you now and you cannot stop me' smile. It was the smile of a woman (mannequin) who was about to start shit.

"What do you want, Nikola?" he asked. He rubbed his temple, waiting for the ball to drop.

"Join my band!" Nikola said. Mike blinked. If he could still fall without it being purposeful, he probably would have. Instead, he just looked at her wide-eyed.

"I'm sorry?" he asked.

"Join my band!" Nikola said again. She held out the Leitner in front of her. Mike could feel the heat radiating off of it. "Join my band and I'll give you the book!"

Mike didn't want to. He knew why she was asking, but he hadn't picked up his clarinet in years. He had no clue who else was going to be in the band. He just wanted to spend his evenings reading in peace, maybe going out occasionally with a few friends, but that was it. His years of being young and wild and the sort of person who would be in a band were long gone. But Nikola would never take that for an answer. Also, she was holding a Desolation Leitner and Mike trusted her about as far as he could throw her. Which was far, unless she was actively on fire. Which she might be in a few minutes. With a long-suffering, world-weary sigh, he held out his hand. "Deal." 

"Oh, goodie! I knew you'd come around! We're meeting this Friday at seven! Please try to come on time! And bring your guitar!" Nikola said, handing him the book. Then she clapped, bouncing around like a kid on Christmas. Mike just sighed, stuffing the book under his arm. She was so lucky he was in a good mood today. 

"Have a horrible day," he grumbled, turning to leave. All at once he could feel the vertigo begin to rush in from beneath him, and he leaned into it happily. Moments like that were one of the few joys he had left. 

"Awww, thank you! You too!" Nikola shouted as he let the ground slip from beneath him. He flipped her off as he fell, leaving the sound of her joyful cackling behind him. As he floated in the endless falling of his domain, the only thing he could think of was that he sincerely hoped Gerry hadn't gotten rusty.

No way in hell was he doing this alone. 

  
  
  



	2. Takeout Boxes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerry took a deep breath, closing his eyes, and then the two of them fell. They kept their eyes closed for a bit, as Mike did his thing with the Leitner. He could hear the distant rushing of flames, but he had no problem ignoring it. Fire couldn't touch him here. Nothing could. Except maybe Mike, but he trusted that his friend wasn't about to feed him to the sky. After a few minutes, Gerry forced his eyes open. The endless blue sky surrounded him completely. Mike stood upright nearby, seemingly unaffected by the rapid wind. "You done?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This consistency is out of character for me. Anyways here's Chapter 2: I'm actually already writing chaoter 3. Hopefully it'll be ready in a weeks time!

"Jesus christ, Gerry. What the fuck happened to your neck?"

Gerry looked up from the map on their coffee table to see Mike standing in the doorway, holding a bag of Chinese food in one hand. In the other, he held a discreet looking plastic bag. Gerry assumed that the bag was the container he had chosen for the Leitner. He motioned for Mike to set it down on the coffee table, sitting upright. Mike dropped the bag on the coffee table and then went to remove his shoes. Gerry had almost nagged him for walking on the carpet with his shoes still on, but they didn't want to sound too much like Jon. Not that Jon wasn't right, but Gerry had a reputation as being far less neat and he aimed to keep it. Let everyone else think him disorganized and messy; they'd regret it if they turned out to be a threat.

Gerry's own find was tucked in a sealed box in the back of the room for safe keeping. Spiral Leitner's might be volatile, but Gerry had yet to come across one that didn't behave well in their box. Most things did well in the box. Something about being placed in a box calmed the supernatural. They should know, Gerry had used a similar one on Mike a few times. The look on Mike's face suggested he might have to do it again.

He was happy, of course, to see his friend had come back in one piece. Every day one of them didn't get eaten by a wall of flesh or massacred by some bloke with a sword was a day worth celebrating. Though he could do with a little less judgement, even if it did look very bad at first. And at second. Actually, it just looked bad for him no matter what. But it wasn't like he was trying to get marked by the Spiral! It was an occupational hazard like any other! "Would you believe me if I said I got my tattoo redone?" they joked. Mike glared at him, sitting primly down next to him on the couch. He opened the bag and passed Gerry their usual order, still grimacing, focused on the strange spiraling pattern on his neck. "Thanks for getting me dinner, mate. Really appreciate it."

"Gerry. Seriously, what the hell happened? Did the Leitner do that?" Mike said, jabbing a finger at Gerry's new tattoo. They winced, leaning away slightly. Too many hands near his neck lately for Gerry's own comfort. At least Mike's weren't sharp. Mike, seeing him flinch, immediately backed off. "Sorry. Are you okay? Seriously, I can smell the Spiral all over you."

"I ran into...an avatar, I believe. It wanted the book," Gerry said. Mike made a face, opening his container of Chinese food. It was hardly anything authentic, but the smell of fried rice was enough to get Gerry's own appetite started. They followed suit, explaining exactly what had happened between bites of walnut shrimp and lo mein. Mike made the appropriate noises of interest and disdain throughout the conversation, but Gerry could tell he was still hung up on his neck. Gerry could hardly blame them for that.

"They sound dangerous," Mike said once Gerry finished his story. By then the both of them had finished eating and had opened up a bottle of whiskey. It wasn't good whiskey, but after the day Gerry had had they weren't going to be picky. "I'm surprised they gave up so easily. It's suspicious."

"Yeah, well, it's the Spiral. They're not exactly known for clear motives," Gerry said. He thought back to the encounter and shivered. This Micheal person, whoever they were, was clearly a threat. He didn't doubt they would see it again. Attempting to make light of the situation, Gerry gestured to his neck. "Hey, now we match."

"That's not funny. What if it tries to kill you?" Mike snapped. After a moment, he sighed, placing his glass down on the table. He had dug out a coaster from God knows where, and was using it like the posh boy he was. Jon had probably bought them to "Sorry, didn't mean to snap at you. It's just concerning."

"I can handle it, Mike. If Micheal poses a real threat I'll figure something out. If all I got out of this encounter was a fucked up tattoo, I'd say I'm pretty lucky," Gerry said. They glanced at the clock on the wall. It was ten already, which meant they had about an hour before Jon was meant to come home. Gerry brushed his hair back, looking pointedly at the bag on the table. "You up for a little demolition?"

"Yeah, sure. How were we destroying this one?" Mike asked. Gerry stood up, pulling the black bag up with him. Mike did so as well, stretching out his back with a loud pop. Gerry bit their lip to prevent themselves from calling Mike an old man.

"I was thinking we toss it off the building and let your spooky sky god take care of it," Gerry said. Mike rolled his eyes, grumbling, but snatched the bag from him anyways. "Don't give me that look, it is literally a spooky sky god."

"It's not just the sky," Mike said. When Gerry said nothing, Mike dropped the subject. Gerry reached for his jacket and pulled it on, pins jangling. They had just put a few new ones on it, actually. Gerry might have a bit of an obsession. At least they fed into my aesthetics. "What was he like?"

"What was who like?" Gerry asked as the two of them headed towards the window. From experience, they knew if they climbed out it they could make their way to the roof on the drain pipes. Maybe it was a little bit of a climb, but Gerry wasn't scared of heights. Besides, Mike wouldn't let him fall. Very far, at least.

"Micheal. You told me about the hands and the hair and stuff, but what was he like?" Mike asked as he pried the window open. Gerry waited to answer until his feet were safely planted on the drain pipe outside. The night air bit at their cheeks, leaving them red. They hadn't expected it to get so cold. Then again, spring had only just begun. It would take some time before it warmed up.

"It was like...you know that feeling when you start doubting the validity of your lived experiences? Like "did that actually happen or am I making it up, am I really feeling like this or am I faking it, did I really remember to do xyz or am i misremembering it", that kind of thing?" Gerry asked. Mike nodded as he began walking effortlessly across the pipes. Damn him and his center of gravity. Gerry was sure they looked like a fool, inching their way across the pipes eyes focused on each and every step. "It was like that. Everything about him was paranoia and anxiety. It calmed down once he wasn't a full monster. I suspect he only appeared that way at first to mess with me."

"Sounds about par for the course when it comes to the Spiral. Here," Mike climbed up onto the roof and then hoisted Gerry up after him. For all their muscles, Gerry was very bad at climbing. Once he had two feet planted onto the roof, Gerry followed Mike across the roof to its highest point. He could feel the vertigo steadily increasing around him. He would never, ever admit this to Mike, but there was a small part of him that delighted in the danger of being up so high. Especially with someone who was known for throwing people off buildings. Mike carefully removed the book from his bag, teetering back and forth on the edge of the roof. "Get ready for the drop."

Gerry took a deep breath, closing his eyes, and then the two of them fell. They kept their eyes closed for a bit, as Mike did his thing with the Leitner. He could hear the distant rushing of flames, but he had no problem ignoring it. Fire couldn't touch him here. Nothing could. Except maybe Mike, but he trusted that his friend wasn't about to feed him to the sky. After a few minutes, Gerry forced his eyes open. The endless blue sky surrounded him completely. Mike stood upright nearby, seemingly unaffected by the rapid wind. "You done?"

"Yeah, I destroyed it," Mike said. "You wanna go back?"

Gerry shook his head. "Just give me a bit," he said, closing his eyes again. Mike chuckled, but allowed his friend to indulge himself. They remained there for a few more minutes, just vibing in the endless falling world that was Mike's domain. Once Gerry felt satisfied (and just a little nauseous) Mike brought them back to the ground. Gerry leaned against their front door, regaining his sense of balance. "One of these days you might actually be able to convince me to stay there," he joked.

"Looking forward to it," Mike said, rolling his eyes. Gerry was about to make some clever retort, when the front door opened behind him and he nearly fell right over. Luckily, Jon caught him. Gerry looked up at his tired looking flat-mate with a sheepish grin. Had they spent an hour up there? Gerry hadn't even felt it.

"Hello, Gerry. Hello, Mike. Did you two just get back?" Jon asked, stepping back while Gerry got his land legs back. Mike hustled them both into the flat, grumbling something to himself. Gerry took a moment to note how disheveled and tired Jon seemed. His hair was frizzy and windswept, curls popping out of his bun, and the vest he was wearing had a mysterious stain right in the middle. Gerry raised an eyebrow pointedly. Jon normally did his best to keep himself looking neat and tidy at all times. He liked to look 'professional' when he was at work; Gerry always joked he dressed fifteen years older than he actually was. But Jon took his boring library job very seriously. ("We can't all make a living off our passions, Gerry," he'd said to him at some point. Gerry decided not to point out that academia was Jon's passion in favor of pouting.)

"Nah, we just had something to take care of outside. I'm assuming you had a rough day at work?" Gerry asked, gesturing to his friend's vest. Mike went to sit down at the table while they caught up. Gerry vaguely wondered if Mike was pissed about the Spiral mark that Jon had thankfully not noticed yet. If Gerry thought Mike was bad, Jon might drag him to the hospital to make sure it wasn't killing him. Jon was just a good friend like that.

Jon laughed. "Tell me about it. I swear, everyone and their mother was at the library today. I had to wait till we closed to get any of my filing done," Jon said. "And someone bumped into me with their iced coffee as soon as I walked in the door." Gerry chuckled. Yeah, he'd be pissed too. The vest was a nice one, even if it was second-hand. But who had the energy to go to a commercial clothing store nowadays?

"Well, at least you have tomorrow off. I have to go into the parlor," Gerry said. "I looked at the client's request beforehand. Guess what it is?" Jon smiled a little as he ducked into their tiny kitchen and came back out with a bag of Chinese food. Mike must have grabbed Jon something as well, then. How thoughtful.

"Some wannabe metalhead getting a skull on his upper arm?" Jon asked. Gerry shook their head. "A flaming skull? Some sort of black bird? Skeleton lady? Is it someone's partner's name again?" When Gerry continued to shake their head, Jon frowned. He crossed over to the table and sat next to Mike. Gerry followed, leaning over the back of Mike's seat. 

"MCR lyrics. In a skull," Gerry said in a mock-whisper. Mike snorted, placing down his glass of whiskey. Gerry wasn't sure how it had migrated to the table, but he'd probably just missed Mike getting up to grab it. "Look, I get it's aesthetic but as a rule, lyric tattoos suck. I know they're popular but I cannot fathom why anyone would get the entire opening of black parade tattooed on their upper arm."

"They are not," Mike said, turning to look Mike in the face. "You're fucking with us. There is no one on this planet that would actually do that." Gerry simply smiled back in return, cocky as always. Jon cackled leaning back in his chair.

"Oh, that's rich coming from you Gerry. You have what, 100 eyes tattoos?" Jon said, gesturing to the exposed bits of Gerry's arms. "Speaking of, did you get the one on your neck redone recently and I just haven't noticed?" Gerry's hand went to his throat almost instinctively. Right, Jon had definitely seen it then. No use trying to lie about it; Jon would just get upset.

"That Leitner kinda tried to eat me, I got a new tattoo out of it. We have it if you wanna help burn it," Gerry said, gesturing behind him to the corner where Gerry kept his supplies and where Jon kept the sigils and protective charms his friend had given him over the years. Gerry really did miss Georgie; hopefully she was doing alright. They should call her.

Jon nodded, looking very angry all of a sudden. Despite Gerry's careful efforts to keep Jon uninvolved in the world of the supernatural, Jon had had a few run-ins with Leitner's. Gerry figured if all he knew was that evil books were real, that was fine.

"I never did ask how your evening went, did I Mike?" Gerry asked, eager to get the conversation away from his cursed tattoo. Jon sat up, mumbling something about tea. "Mind making me a cup as well?" he asked. and Jon nodded as he made his way back to the kitchen.

"If it's not too much trouble, I'd like a cup as well!" Mike called. Jon shouted back something in affirmation, though Gerry suspected the whiskey was blurring it a little. "I got the book, but you'll never guess how," Mike said. Gerry waited for a moment, but it was clear Mike wanted them to guess.

"Murder?" Gerry said, only half-joking. Knowing Mike, it might be true. Not that Mike would say it in front of Jon. When Mike shook his head, Gerry continued to guess. After about ten minutes of Gerry failing to guess what Mike had done to retrieve the Leitner, Jon returned with a few cups of tea. They were probably prepared in the microwave, but as it was nearly 1 A.M he couldn't fault Jon for not wanting to boil water. "Okay, I give up. How?"

Mike sighed, taking a sip of his tea. "Nikola had it," he said. Gerry scrunched up their face. Why the hell would she have a Leitner? He echoed this thought aloud as he sipped his own tea. Maybe they shouldn't have caffeine this late at night, but that mistake had already been made. "Well, I have no clue how she managed to get it before we could, but I wandered that building for what felt like a century before I found her and her creepy music. Then she told me she would only give me the book if I...if we did her a favor." 

"Who is Nikola again?" Jon asked. Gerry put his tea down on the table, grimacing. Nikola wasn't his favorite person in the whole world, but if she was Mike's friend then she was also his. And maybe her idea of a favor wouldn't be that bad. Although if it involved even a little bit of skinning, Gerry was out. He'd had enough of that with his mother, thank you very much.

"Nikola is a friend of ours. Works for...a circus. Ringmaster. Kind of peculiar, but she means well, supposedly," Mike said. Jon made a little noise of understanding. Gerry had a feeling Jon had no clue what to make of that description. Gerry wouldn't have gotten it either if he hadn't already met her. "Anyways, she asked us to pitch in on a little project of hers." Gerry's eyes narrowed at the vague statement.

"What project?" they asked, leaning forward to rest their chin on their hand. "Is it something illegal? I'm not stealing another car." Jon gasped slightly, but Gerry waved him off. "Joking. I've never stolen anything that big."

"That implies you've stolen small things," Jon said suspiciously. Gerry laughed a little, going back for another sip of his tea. It was starting to cool down a little. Funny, how cold things never stayed cold and hot things never stayed hot. There must be a science to it, but Jon was a better source for that kind of thing.

"Everyone's shoplifted," Gerry said simply. "It comes with the package. Gay, shitty parents, bad makeup, loud music, crimes, you know, all the things that make up your typical alt kid." 

"I've never shoplifted!" Jon said, throwing his hands into the air. "I don't commit crimes! I'm a law-abiding citizen." 

"I have seen you smoke, Jon," Mike said. Jon grimaced, crossing his arms. "And I'm pretty sure we've egged houses together. You're not that law-abiding. Not that that fucker didn't deserve it for being such a creep. I hate trust fund kids." Gerry circled the table to sit in the chair across from Mike. 

Gerry scoffed. "Those hardly count as crimes," he said. "And also, you cannot say you hate trust-fund kids. You get your money from your sugar daddy." Jon snorted, covering his mouth with his hands. MIke looked like he might actually kill Gerry for saying that.

"Simon is not my sugar daddy, God I hate you both," Mike hissed. "We work together and it's not like that! I just go to meetings with him and occasionally track things down for the company. That's it!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. I'm sure you totally do enough work to justify him basically handing you a blank check. It's okay if you're a sugar baby, Mike, I won't judge," Gerry said softly. Mike glared at them so hard Gerry wondered idly if he was trying to kill him. "Alright, fine, I'll drop it. What was it Nikola wanted, anyways? Can't really help if I don't know what it is I'm meant to be doing."

"Oh, right. She needs guitar and clarinet players for her new band. I said we'd be willing to join," Mike said. Gerry froze. No, absolutely not. He hated the mere idea of walking out onto a stage in front of a crowd of people and playing music. He didn't do bands. They hardly even played the guitar for friends back when they were playing it everyday. He was not going to join a band, especially not with Nikola of all people. They were damn near thirty-five. He wasn't at the age where spontaneously joining a band with friends looked cool and rebellious. They were an adult with responsibilities and there was no way in hell they were signing up for something like this. Not a chance. 

"I haven't played the guitar in years," Gerry protested weakly. They knew there was no way Mike was going to budge on this, but a man could dream. They'd have to drag him kicking and screaming to every practice. God forbid Gerry allow himself to enjoy playing the instrument he'd once loved. He'd sooner die. 

"It's like riding a bike. Once you learn you never really forget," Mike said, taking another sip of his tea. He made a face; it had probably gone cold by now. That or he put too much sugar into it. Mike hated sweets almost as much as he hated the floral tea Gerry liked. Tea snob.

"I never learned how to ride a bike," Gerry said, though his voice was clearly resigned.

"Sounds like a you problem," Mike said, leaning onto the table. Gerry kicked him, and the blonde cursed under his breath. Gerry would pay for that later, but in the moment it was very satisfying. 

Jon sighed. "Well, if Gerry doesn't want to do it, I can see if I have some time. I wouldn't want you to have to go back on a promise," Jon said. Gerry immediately tensed up. The only thing worse than Gerry being a part of this cursed band was Jon being anywhere near Nikola and her friends. They'd eat him alive. 

"Fine, fine. But if this first practice sucks ass, I'm quitting," Gerry threatened. Mike grinned, cocky as ever. He was going to be the death of Gerry someday. 

"Nikola said we're meeting this Friday at seven. I'll text you when I know the location," Mike said, looking like the cat who had gotten the cream. Maybe Gerry would be the death of Mike instead, actually. Jury's out on that one. "I should probably get going. It's late."

Jon looked up at the wall and cursed. "Fuck. It's three a.m. and I have work at nine," Jon groaned. Gerry chuckled a little. "I'm going to bed. Gerry, go to sleep at a reasonable hour, please?"

Gerry sighed. "Yeah, yeah. Need me to show you out, Mike?" Gerry asked. Mike shook his head, walking over to where he'd discarded his scarf and coat. "Good night, then. I'll let you know how destroying the other one goes."

Mike nodded, and then left without another word. As Jon shuffled into the kitchen to clean up a bit before bed, Gerry let their head slam onto the wooden table. He was so screwed. The only thing he could focus on was how much he was dreading this practice. 

  
  



	3. Band Practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They made a rather interesting bunch, now that they thought about it. It was like the set-up to a joke: two goths, an emo, a theatre kid, an amateur skydiver, a woman full of worms, an arsonist, and an old man walk into a bar....now they just needed the punchline. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Clowns as a metaphor for Homophobia/Transphobia, Worms, Mild Body Horror. 
> 
> Yes you read the first tag right. I have no clue how it happened either. But hey: WE GET TO MEET THE BAND!!!

Gerry was right about one thing: Nikola's chosen band-mates were all weird as hell. 

Then again, all of them were weird. Gerry had eye tattoos and hunted books for a living. Mike threw people off buildings for fun. Nikola was a mannequin masquerading as a human and really not selling it. Apparently she had chosen similarly odd characters for the rest of their band-mates.

Gerry entered the room, shortly behind a very tired looking Mike, and immediately caught a drumstick to the face. Which was...honestly, not unexpected all things considered. At least it wasn't anything he'd have to wash off. They rubbed at their temple, and scanned the room. He recognized Jude and Annabelle, but the other two people in the room were unfamiliar. He squinted, trying to get a good read on them as he stepped away from the doorway. The small room was crowded, lined with sound-proofing, and slightly falling apart. Apparently this place had sold for very, very cheap on the market because the previous owner had been brutally murdered here. Gerry figured it was probably Nikola's fault. Anything for the band, apparently. 

He could tell that the person with long black hair standing in the back was of the Corruption. Even if he could't see the rotting mark on them, the worms crawling in and out of their skin gave it away. He was concerned for a moment until the Beholding, in an uncharacteristic display of kindness, informed him that she had no plans to infect anyone here. So they were mostly safe. As safe as one could be, given the circumstances. The other person, a tall, dark stranger in a leather jacket absolutely covered in pins, had the mark of the End hanging off them. Gerry didn't get any bad vibes from them. They seemed cool, actually. Gerry should ask about where they got some of those pins. 

"Mike, Gerry! You made it," Jude shouted, waving at the two of them. "Glad to see you guys didn't kick the bucket. Couple close calls, from what I've heard." Gerry shook their head, dice earrings clacking loudly. He'd appreciated the symbolic nature of the things- He was taking a chance on this whole encounter. From behind him, he heard the door open again. He turned to see Nikola and...Simon fucking Fairchild. They blinked rapidly, in shock from the frankly, absurd sight of Nikola and Simon standing together. He'd thought they all had pretty much agreed Simon was a drag to be around. Fun in short doses but prone to bore one to tears.

"Yeah, unfortunately for you, you can't get rid of me that easily," Mike said dryly. "Whose your friend?" Mike gestured to the worm person standing next to Jude, gripping a saxophone in her hand. Propped up next to them was Jude's violin. Gerry had honestly almost forgot she played one. It was just as old and beat up as Gerry's guitar, the exterior slightly chipped. It was a interesting contrast to the rest of Jude's appearance; neat and manicured as much as it did still capture the fire in Jude's heart. Something about the juxtaposition felt poetic. Good thing Gerry was not a poet. 

"My name's Jane. Jane Prentiss. I like your shoes," Jane said, gesturing to Mike's black boots. Mike smiled a little, puffing out his chest proudly. "What instrument do you play?" 

"Clarinet. What is everyone else playing?" Mike asked. Jane opened her mouth to answer, but Nikola cut her off with a polite 'ahem'. She took center-stage (center-room?) and waited until everything went quiet. Gerry leaned against the wall next to Jude, exchanging a brief nod with her. At least he had a few friends here already. And Jane seemed pretty nice. Even with all the worms.

"Welcome to the first meeting! Most of you know each other, but just in case, I'm going to do introductions!" Nikola said cheerfully. Mike rolled his eyes slightly, grumbling beneath his breath. Gerry hoped she wasn't going to make them stand in a circle like a group of year sevens. "I'm Nikola, obviously. Then this lovely lady right here is Annabelle Cane! She's going to play the keyboard!" Annabelle waved slightly from her seat, legs dangling off the table. Gerry waved back. They'd only known each other for a couple months, but she was pretty cool. They had the same taste in music, so that might make writing music easier for them. "Then to my left is Oliver Banks! Most of you are probably a little familiar with him, but just in case, he's the big name End avatar here in London!" Gerry watched the person with the cool jacket, Oliver apparently, stand upright. "He plays the guitar!"

"Nice to meet everyone here," Oliver said. Gerry shivered a little. His voice had that quality to it Gerry had always associated with the End. It was nice, actually, calming. Gerry glanced over and was more than a little thrilled to see how carefully Mike was trying not to stare. Oh, they were going to lord this over his head for a month at least. As quickly as it appeared though, it was gone, and Mike was once again leaning causally against the wall, confidence rolling off him. Gerry almost envied him for it. 

  
  


"Then there's Jude. I think everyone here knows who Jude is by now. She's playing her violin! She's very good at it," Nikola said. Jude grinned, obviously enjoying the attention. Gerry heard Mike mumble something and catch an elbow for it. Serves him right. Gerry still hadn't quite forgiven him for dragging them to this band practice. Even if the people were pretty cool. "And next to her is Jane! Jane plays the clarinet! She's a total sweetheart, so please don't worry about her worms!"

"Unless you're interested. We're hiring," Jane said with a grin that was surprisingly not rotten. "The benefits are good. Healthcare isn't included...but well, it's not really necessary." Jude laughed, and after a moment everyone else joined in. It was hard to imagine Jane actually infecting anyone. Most of them were probably inedible anyways. 

"Then there's Mike! Mike Crew! He's an avatar of the vast, he's playing the clarinet, and he's single!" Nikola said, visibly grinning as she said the last part of her sentence. Gerry didn't have to look at Mike to know he was vibrating in place. Careful, Nikola, Mike was still feral at heart. He might chuck you off a building out of spite. Jane giggled a little, looking away. Jude looked pointedly between Oliver and Mike, clearly also enjoying teasing poor, unfortunate Mike. 

"Real subtle, Nikki," Annabelle teased. Nikola waved her off, giggling to herself. Then she turned to Gerry. They stood up a little straighter. He was glad he'd tried to look presentable today. They smoothed down their faux-leather jacket and tried to look...nonchalant. Aloof. Interesting. It might not work on Jude or Annabelle, but they'd like to make a good impression on everyone else. 

"And finally, we have our Gerard! Gerry if they like you. They're our second guitar player," Nikola said. Gerry nodded slightly, immediately cursing as his hair fell in front of his face. Again. Maybe he was do for a haircut. He had to get it dyed again anyways, the blond was starting to show up in the roots and he seriously did not need to let everyone else know he was a natural blonde. Mike knowing was bad enough. 

"You're not going to introduce me?" Simon asked from his position in the back of the room. Gerry found the cheerful, bubbly voice to be off-putting, given this man was the leader of a massive cult dedicated to worshiping an Endless God of the Sky. Then again, he had no problem with Nikola, and she had a very similar personality. Maybe it was just because Simon was less familiar to them. Gerry knew how to deal with Nikola. Simon was a wild card through and through. 

"Oh! This is Simon everyone! Simon Fairchild? I'm sure you've all heard of him. He's playing the drums!" Nikola said. Mike silently raised his hand. "Yes, Mike?"

"Why is Simon on drums? Why does he know how to play drums? Why is he here?" Mike asked. Gerry snorted. It was kind of absurd that Simon of all people was there drummer. It was like if Peter Lukas came to practice and declared he was going to shred the guitar. They made a rather interesting bunch, now that they thought about it. It was like the set-up to a joke: two goths, an emo, a theatre kid, an amateur skydiver, a woman full of worms, an arsonist, and an old man walk into a bar....now they just needed the punchline. 

"He's the only avatar in London who can play the drums, and Nikola insisted that everyone in the band has to be an avatar or it won't work," Annabelle said. "And besides, this way we have someone to pay for equipment and fees that won't feel the damage to their bank account." Simon chuckled slightly, mumbling something about 'kids these days'. This is why Gerry hated anyone over the age of 200. They were all in their mid-to-late thirties (barring Jude, who was approaching 70 at that point). No one there was a kid. 

"Wait. I'm not an avatar," Gerry protested. He wasn't! They just used the Beholding sometimes. They were just aligned. It seemed that no one else believed them, as they all just stared at him with varying degrees of disbelief. He could practically here them saying 'sure, buddy, we believe you'. 

"What instrument are you playing, Nikola?" Jane asked. Gerry glanced around the room, noting that he didn't particularly notice anything that screamed 'Nikola". Then again, Mike didn't look like a clarinet player. 

"Yes," Nikola said. Jane nodded a little, as if Nikola had given them a clear, precise answer. Maybe it was for the best that they didn't press for details. Nikola could get quite scary sometimes. 

"What genre are we going to do?" Annabelle asked. "Our overall aesthetics don't really scream a specific style for our music, and you were kind of vague about it in your email."

"I was thinking we could all make suggestions! After all, we'll be writing the songs together! Everyone can have a chance to inject their own personality into our music! I think we're all a little too cool to be restricted to just one 'thing'. That'd be boring!" Nikola said as she moved to take a seat on a nearby chair. It looked like one of those seats you'd find in a movie theatre. Gerry was almost amused by the sight. Had Nikola...stolen a theatre seat? For what reason? Why? 

"Okay, that makes sense I suppose. The variety will make practices more interesting, certainly," Annabelle said. "So, what's everyone want to do then?" 

"Folk rock," Jane said immediately. "Or like...bugcore. Music about bugs. Or nature." Jane looked genuinely excited at the idea that she might get to play a song about bugs. A worm crawled out of her mouth. 

"Ooooh, bug metaphors are wonderful. If we do a song about bugs, do you want to sing?" Annabelle asked. Jude nodded rapidly, black hair flying everywhere. "Perfect then. I honestly think Folk rock and bugs would be an interesting combination. Artsy. Wait, we should write this down. Does anyone have a notebook?"

Jude leaned over to grab her bag, and pulled out a notebook and a collection of assorted pens. "I do. Here," Jude said, tossing the collection to Annabelle. "Would it be too on the nose for me to say I want to write a song about a house-fire?"

"Jane said bugcore, Jude, I don't think anyone's judging you for wanting to right about your god," Mike said. "Is this why Nikola chose only avatars for this band? So all our music would have appropriate theming?"

"Oh, of course I did! Can you imagine a human being here? They'd probably have said something mean to Jane, and we can't have that!" Nikola said. Annabelle scribbled something into the notebook. "What genre, Jude?" 

"No clue. Something...lighter, maybe? It's a nice contrast, soft music with really fucked-up lyrics," Jude mused. "It's a statement."

"No, no, Gerry's song would be the statement," Jane teased. "Since they're the Eye avatar." Gerry groaned, rubbing his face in agony.

"I'm not an avatar," he said again. Really though, what was he expecting? For them to stop calling them an avatar? Not happening. 

"Honestly, the Beholding is the worst entity. If you could leave like, reviews for the entities, I think Beholding would have a one star average," Nikola said. 

"One star is generous. I think they'd have to clear out a ton of reviews because the rating keeps tanking," Mike said. "Like on the app store." Gerry chuckled a little. Yeah, the Beholding was the worse, even compared to the entity whose whole deal was meat. 

"You all are insane," Oliver said. "I kinda like it. Lots of life in this room." At that, he cracked a small smile, and damn Gerry could see why Mike was over there nursing a little crush. The man was good-looking.

"It's funny because most of us are dead," Jane mock-whispered, and Nikola burst out laughing. 

"Okay, okay. So we have Jane and Jude...I'm going to say now that I want to do something classical. Haunting. The sort of piece that incites emotion and makes you think," Annabelle said. "And well, maybe mine isn't going to be about spiders but it has to match the aesthetic. Mine is going to be classy."

"Are you sure you don't want to do a rendition of the Itsy-Bitsy Spider?" Nikola asked in a sing-song voice. Annabelle glared at her, flicking a ball of discarded paper (she really did write fast) towards her. "I'm just kidding! You know I love your spiders darling."

"Yes, I am aware. So, can I put you down for circus theme meets Broadway musical meets EDM?" Annabelle said. Nikola nodded rapidly, and Annabelle scribbled that down as well. 

"Nikola, I'm not singing a song about clowns," Mike said. "I will sing literally anything else. Anything at all. But I am not going to subject myself to singing about Bozo the fool for five minutes." Gerry rolled their eyes. So singing about worms was a-okay, but clowns was a deal-breaker? Pathetic.

"Oh, come on! You think with how short you are you'd like clowns! Their little cars are just your size," Jude quipped. Mike elbowed her, but accidentally caught skin. He yelped, jumping at least a few feet into the air and hanging there, clutching his slightly singed elbow. Jude's grin was practically a mile wide. "You deserved that."

"Yeah, don't be mean to Nikki! She can't help being a clown, it's how she was made," Jane said, jabbing a finger accusingly at Mike. "Don't be clownphobic!"

"I'm not clownphobic! I've been to clown weddings," Mike protested. Gerry made a face, turning to meet Annabelle's gaze. The two of them seemed to be having the same reaction: where the fuck was this conversation going? "Wait. Oh my god I sound like my uncle." 

"Your uncle hates clowns?" Simon asked.

"My uncle doesn't believe clowns should be allowed to marry," Mike said gravely. Gerry slowly inched away from the conversation. "He also doesn't believe mimes can become clowns. He thinks if you start off as a mime you have to be one forever, and vice versa."

"Your uncle sounds like a dick," Jude said. "I say if someone wants to be a clown, let them! What does it matter?" Jude's tone was very serious for someone who was clearly talking nonsense.

"Some people want to be jesters," Nikola added, smiling like she was discussing freshly baked goods and not...clown-transitioning? Was Gerry hearing them right? 

"Are we still talking about clowns?" Jane asked. Simon pulled out his phone, clearly checking out of the conversation. "It sounds like we're talking about gay people now, and I can't tell if we're joking. "

"They're joking, Jane," Annabelle said. Jane looked visibly relieved. Gerry honestly felt relieved as well. They did not want to live in a world where their friends actually hd discourse over clown rights. Gerry would lose his mind.

"Can I suggest we move on from the clown talk? I think this counts as feeding the Stranger," Oliver said. Jude made a face, clearly not liking the idea of that. 

"Oh, fine, fine. Simon, what kind of music do you want to do?" Nikola asked.

"Something romantic. An ode to the beauty and eternal love of my master and lover, the Falling Titan," Simon said, almost dreamily. Annabelle frowned deeply. Jane gagged. Gerry was, unfortunately, used to it. Gerry didn't get Simon's whole thing with the Vast, but to each his own. At least he wasn't beetle man. 

"I also want to do something sky-related but...not like that," Mike said. "Something freeing. I want to write a song that ends with the listener feeling empowered and freed. Feel good music." 

"Ugh, of course the prep wants to write something up-beat," Gerry teased. Mike went quiet for a moment, and Gerry was almost concerned he'd struck a nerve. Then the floor fell from under them and Gerry couldn't breathe. It only lasted for a second, but that was enough. Gerry wheezed, trying to catch his breathe.

"Mike, no murder during practice!" Nikola snapped. "It's rude!" 

"I didn't kill them," Mike said blankly. Nikola huffed, gesturing to where Gerry was now leaning against the wall coughing furiously. "Not my fault he has bad lungs. They need to quit smoking." 

"Bad lungs aside, generally being unable to breathe is bad for humans. Sorry, avatars," Oliver said cheekily. Gerry slowly raised his head, flipping the two of them off. Mike cackled.

"Oliver, did you have any ideas for your song?" Annabelle asked. Oliver thought for a moment, looking down at his guitar.

"Something slow. Not sure what style yet, but I want it to be methodical and creeping. Like a slow procession towards your own demise," Oliver said quietly. Gerry shivered as the image of a hearse flashed in his head. 

"That just leaves Gerry, then. Can we expect you to suggest something a la Fallout Boy?" Nikola teased. 

"Fucking hate all of you," Gerry said. "That isn't even from my era. I'm not that young." Still, when Annabelle motioned to her notebook, he nodded. Damn him for being predictable. The room dissolved into quiet chattering for a moment, as Nikola and Annabelle reviewed her notes, Jude checked on Mike's arm, and Jane and Oliver began examining each other's pins. Gerry scooted over to the side of the room to get a quick drink from his water bottle. 

"We should practice a little together, see how well we mesh," Oliver finally said to the group, picking up his guitar. Gerry noticed with no small amount of amusement that it had a huge skull sticker on the front in neon orange. Avatars really did struggle with being subtle. "Are there any songs everyone here knows? And not Hot Cross Buns. If I ever have to play Hot Cross Buns again I may simply walk right back into the ocean."

Mike shivered, as he adjusted the strap on his clarinent. "Don't remind me. Primary school band classes were the worse. I don't think I'll ever be able to listen to a Christmas song ever again," he said. Gerry watched the sympathetic looks flash on everyone else's faces. Well, this was awkward, considering he had been home-schooled. Were band classes really that bad?

"Can't relate on that front, Mike, as my family never celebrated Christmas," Jude said. She laughed a little, afterwards, and a few others joined in. At least at this, Gerry could laugh along. He'd never been very religious, and his mother was usually too busy with book-stuff to celebrate the holidays, despite having been raised Anglican like the majority of her family. Not that it mattered: as far as Gerry was concerned, whether or not there was a God didn't seem to effect their life. And Christmas was kind of pointless anyways: if he wanted to buy his friend a gift, he'd do it all year round. 

"Christmas music has like, a weird hypnotic quality to it. I hate the stuff yet if it comes up on the radio I'm singing along. It's brainwashing, I'm telling you," Oliver said. Gerry lifted his guitar up and began to tune it. He probably should have done that before, but whatever. 

"You all are lucky you didn't go to Catholic school. We didn't sing any of the fun Christmas songs. All ours were depressing," Jane said "This is probably why I became a witch." 

"Christmas music made you a heathen?" Nikola said. "All it made me was envious of how powerful Santa is. That man apparently just breaks into houses every year with no consequences! Can you imagine?" Nikola retrieved a cowbell from a random pocket of her bag. Gerry was starting to think that thing was haunted. 

"Christmas music is either cheerful kiddy crap or 'on this day all my friends died and also I'm poor and dying of the plague' and there's no in between," Jude said thoughtfully. "Christians are weird." 

"Eh, not all of them," Gerry said. "The weird ones are just the loudest." 

"So what I'm hearing is no Christmas music," Annabelle said, rifling through some of her sheet music. "Everyone here know Mozart?" 

"I'm playing the guitar?" Oliver said. "I can't play Mozart on the guitar." 

"You can, actually," Jude said. "Theoretically." 

"Okay, everyone, let's just do Welcome To The Black Parade. And don't say you don't know how to play it; I know you all do," Gerry said as he finished tuning. Everyone went various shades of red at being called out for their emo-phases (barring Oliver and Jane, who seemed to wear it with pride). They all readied their instruments, Gerry's hand finding the comfortable spots on their guitar just as Annabelle played the first note. 

  
  


By the time they were done jamming and everyone had went their separate ways, Gerry was itching for a cigarette. They were trying to quit, however, so instead they stopped at a corner store and bought a pack of gummy worms. It was proving to be a very effective way of getting his mind off smoking. He stopped just outside the door, popping a gummy worm into his mouth. After taking a moment to savor it, they began their walk home. The air was colder than normal, and Gerry wished they'd brought a heavier jacket. The things they'd do for fashion. 

A few blocks away, Gerry started to feel odd. There was a creeping sense of wrongness and Gerry felt himself losing his sense of direction. They stopped moving, closing their eyes as they focused on not losing their sense of balance. Their head was beginning to swim, and when they chanced opening their eyes, they saw that the sidewalk had turned to ice beneath their feet. Gerry stepped back, and his feet slid behind him. It was the middle of summer, so how was it that the sidewalks had frozen over? The cold air around him had somehow gotten even colder, to the point where he half-expected to freeze before he could get home. Gerry took a deep breath, and felt the cold air rush down into their lungs, sending them into a coughing fit. On shaking legs, Gerry stumbled over to the wall of a nearby building, leaning against it to try and regain their breath. 

Then they heard laughter, slow and creeping, but with a quality to it that almost felt like cheese wire. Gerry winced, covering their ears to try to escape it. They shifted slightly, and something hard pressed into their back. Gerry immediately stumbled away from the wall, trying not to slip on the ice that was now creeping up the side of the building. He knew, intellectually, that it was impossible. Ice didn't move, but Gerry's senses were telling a different story. They shut their eyes again for just a moment, and when they reopened them they noticed the wall's new feature. Set into the middle of it was a door, faded blue with a bright yellow handle. The sides of the door had a vine like-pattern carved into it, and the glass window in the middle was frosted over with ice. It took Gerry a moment to realize that the pattern of that ice was a fractal, shifting ever so slightly the longer he looked at it. It took him another moment to remember what was significant about fractals: namely, that they were a sure sign of the Spiral. Gerry was almost a little relieved to see it. It meant that all of this was likely a hallucination, rather than some genuine occurrence of moving ice. Gerry could deal with the former far easier than the latter. He rubbed at his eyes, mumbling to himself over and over that it was just a hallucination, that it wasn't real. 

The creaking sound the door made as it opened seemed to at once dispel the hallucination. Gerry blinked and it was gone as soon as it had arrived. They weren't sure if that was a good thing. They waited for a few moments, staring at the open door and trying to regain enough control to run. The hallucination had made running seem impossible, and his legs were still half-convinced they were standing on ice. Then slowly, with all the precision one might expect of a surgeon, a hand appeared at the edge of the door. Or, well, a hand in the loosest sense of the word. It was far too sharp to be human, a thing of impossible angles and proportions. The rest of the body, of Micheal, appeared in a similar fashion. It (They? He?) appeared almost human in this form, with a round face and long blonde curls. Even if those curls were moving slightly and that smile was too wide for his face. Micheal stepped out of their doorway, and stood just outside it, towering over Gerry. They stared at him curiously, and Gerry swore there was no reason for an avatar of the Spiral to have such large eyes. It was absurd how much light they seemed to catch. They cleared their throat, realizing that it was waiting for them to make the first move. "Fancy seeing you here," Gerry said. "I don't suppose this is a coincidence?"

"Coincidences are just plans one hasn't made yet," Micheal said. His (and Gerry had decided his was the best word for Micheal at the moment) voice was musing, like he was contemplating the weather rather than speaking nonsense. Gerry supposed one could call his statement philosophical, in the way that the ravings of a drunken caveman might be likened to philosophy. Gerry was more of a Socrates kind of person. "But you are correct, bookburner, in presuming that our meeting was not mere chance." Well, that was just great, wasn't it? He was being stalked by the physical embodiment of madness. Maybe he should consider retiring if this was going to be his occupational hazard. 

"Cool, cool cool cool. Any particular reason you've decided to pop up today? I should warn you I probably don't taste very good," Gerry said, trying to force themselves to talk casually. Panicking was out of the question. So was just hauling off and attacking the thing, as much as their brain was screaming to go for the kill. Man, they should probably address their Hunt tendencies at some point. It was going to get them killed one of these days, if the curiosity didn't first. "Just in case you were thinking about having a quick snack before you go back to...whatever it is you do when you're not harassing strangers."

"I am not here to feast on your fear, bookburner. Although you do seem positively ripe with it," Micheal said, and god that smile of their's was creepy as hell. Gerry shivered, trying not to focus too hard on its face. The twisting pattern on its blue overcoat was easier, somehow, to focus on. At least the eyes on that were blinking. 

"Then why are you here?" Gerry asked. He pulled out his bag of gummy worms, popping another into his mouth. Might as well enjoy something during this conversation. 

"Why are any of us here, bookburner?" Micheal asked. Gerry frowned, biting down particularly hard on his gummy. There was no way in hell Gerry was going to let them drag them into a spiral that easily. He wasn't some inexperienced kid playing around with forces beyond his understanding. They were fairly competent, all things considered and they weren't about to fall for 'contemplating our place in the cosmos'. That wasn't even a spiral thing! Micheal was just stealing the Vast's tricks. 

"Fuck if I know. Are you just here to bother me? Because I do have to get home," Gerry said. 

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. Must I have something so linear as a motive, dear bookburner?" Micheal asked, voice pitching to the high end of 'fork scraping against china'. Gerry winced. They'd just gotten used to hearing him and then they had to go and do that? "If you must know, I am simply watching you. You are very interesting, bookburner. A pupil of the eye, yet so eager to get your hands dirty...it seems out of character." 

"Not a 'pupil of the Eye'," Gerry said, turning to walk away from the monster. It followed him (of course it did) down to the end of the street. Gerry stopped then, sighing and turning to face the creature. Its eyes were fixated on the bag in their hands. Gerry almost rolled his eyes, but thought better of it when he caught a glimpse of Micheal's hands. "Don't tell me you're following me home. My roommate wouldn't appreciate the company." 

Micheal giggled (and that noise sent a shock of pain down Gerry's spine) and stepped back. "No, not today I think. We will be seeing each other, bookburner. I think we are going to be great friends," it said with a smile. Gerry watched as its door popped into existence right behind him, now a simple faded yellow. The monster opened it, stepping back into its weird hallways.

"Don't suppose I have a say in the matter," Gerry grumbled. Micheal laughed louder at that, and a piece of its hair shot out from the rest of it...to steal a gummy worm. It then promptly disappeared, leaving Gerry with a half-finished bag of gummy worms and the realization that they had no clue what they had signed up for. The tattoo on his neck glowed purple, but he was to busy finishing his gummy worms to notice. 

  
  



	4. China Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The shop in question was a small thing, with faded yellow paint and dusty windows. The shop's sign had warped lettering, but they could make out the word 'antique' scrawled across the bottom. Just looking at the front door made him want to cough. He almost wanted to take a duster to it himself, just to soothe his own creeps. He shook it off, entering the shop to the ringing of a sharp bell. The inside was, admittedly, a little better. It was a warm place, shelves lined with interesting objects in a variety of colors and shapes and sizes. There were teacups and jewelry and odd statues and pottery, among other things. It took Gerry a minute or two to reach the other end of the shop, moving slowly to avoid breaking anything. Behind the till stood a person with dark hair and bright eyes, typing away quietly on a laptop. Gerry stood in front of them, shifting to pull out the paper he'd prepared with the necessary information. "Hello. I'm here about a book?" Gerry asked. The person looked up, smiling slightly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Unreality, violence, paranoia, implied Mary Keay, mentioned murder, spiders, fire, death/corpses.
> 
> More Michel/Gerry food for the house.

Gerry stepped out of his flat the next morning, clutching a few papers in his hand. They had picked up a couple leads on that Hunt leitner, and they were eager to verify them. The sooner they can get their hands on the book, the better. Every moment they wasted tracking it down was another moment it was able to hurt innocent people. Maybe it was hypocritical of him, considering he was good friends with several people who make it a habit to innocent people. But Gerry had never considered themselves to be uncomplicated, and this was no exception. 

They walked for at least half an hour down to the first location on his list. Normally they would take a bus, but today when they'd gone up to the bus stop, there was a splitting pain in their head. It was like the Beholding was tugging him in the other direction. And honestly, he might have decided to ignore it if it weren't for the last time. Micheal had been bad enough, with his luck the bus might give him yet another avatar obsessed with him. One was enough. 

The shop in question was a small thing, with faded yellow paint and dusty windows. The shop's sign had warped lettering, but they could make out the word 'antique' scrawled across the bottom. Just looking at the front door made him want to cough. He almost wanted to take a duster to it himself, just to soothe his own creeps. He shook it off, entering the shop to the ringing of a sharp bell. The inside was, admittedly, a little better. It was a warm place, shelves lined with interesting objects in a variety of colors and shapes and sizes. There were teacups and jewelry and odd statues and pottery, among other things. It took Gerry a minute or two to reach the other end of the shop, moving slowly to avoid breaking anything. Behind the till stood a person with dark hair and bright eyes, typing away quietly on a laptop. Gerry stood in front of them, shifting to pull out the paper he'd prepared with the necessary information. "Hello. I'm here about a book?" Gerry asked. The person looked up, smiling slightly. 

"All of our recent book acquisitions have been shelved over there," they said, gesturing towards an area at the back of the store. "If you can't find what you're looking for, I can try looking over our records for you." Gerry nodded, smiling just a little bit in order to try to make himself seem less threatening. They knew that the dark clothing and tattoos and piercings often made people believe that they were aggressive. Normally they didn't mind, a little intimidation goes a long way when you're trying to get access to a Leitner, but it could also be incredibly inconvenient. 

"Thank you," he said quietly, and then walked to the area she gestured to. The Beholding seemed to be content, in that moment, to blast him with random facts about items around him. That scarf was owned by a notorious pickpocket, that plate once decorated the shelves of a hypnotist, that china dog was secretly an aspect of the Stranger, that rug was weaved by an eleven-year old girl, that necklace was worn by a member of parliament...wait, the dog was what? Gerry stopped in his tracks, immediately swiveling around to stare at the small china dog. It was shaped like a terrier of some sort, and as soon as Gerry looked into its eyes, alarm bells went off in their head. Fucking hell. Gerry supposed they would have to change their plans. Book or not, that thing might do more damage. Besides, if the book was there, the Beholding would have told him that as well, hopefully. 

But he was entirely unequipped to deal with an artifact. They didn't even have a big enough bag to hold it in. Maybe the clerk would have one behind the desk? Could they even get the thing out of the shop without it attacking? Aspects of the Stranger usually hated him, and it wasn't like he could destroy it in the shop. Gerry was just about to approach it when he realized it was looking at him. They immediately backed out of the aisle, desperate to break its gaze. The feeling of its cold beady little eyes on them was repulsive, his skin crawling like he had just scraped his nails on fabric. As they moved to enter another aisle, they collided with another person. Initially it felt like a normal collision, and Gerry cursed himself under his breath for not paying better attention to his surroundings. Then Gerry felt himself phase through the person ever so slightly, shifting bones beneath its pale imitation of skin and cloth. The fabric of their sweater (which Gerry noted was a very faded blue, like it had been left out in the sun for too long) was soft in a way that made Gerry's jaw clench. Bad textures all around, not aided by the fact that people were not generally supposed to be...Gerry couldn't think of how to describe how it felt to sink into another person (person being used in the loosest sense). It was sort of like...that feeling you get when you press into one of those slime ball toys Gerry used to use to de-stress, and your fingers sink into it but not all the way through. The words 'high viscosity' came to mind as Gerry recoiled away from the unpleasant sensation. It was that exact feeling, except it was their whole body and it made them want to scream. They would probably rate accidental human osmosis a zero out of ten stars. Still not nearly as horrible as the feeling of having a bone ripped out of you, but close. (Jared had apologized for that but they were still fucking mad about it. A perfectly good rib, gone in a moment.) 

He studied the stranger's face for a moment while he tried to shake off the...gooey feeling all over him, and it was then he realized exactly who he had bumped into. Despite the relatively human proportions, the blonde stranger before him was all too familiar. They looked at Gerry curiously, head tilted to the side slightly, causing their hair to bounce off their shoulders. Their eyes were brown today, and they were studying them as if Gerry were some sort of strange creature they had stumbled upon. Their mouth flickered upwards in a very convincing imitation of a smile. Gerry noted that they were holding in their hands a necklace of some sort, silver with a strange symbol carved into the clear stone on the end. "Greetings, bookburner," it said, their voice even and perfectly pleasant. 

"Gerry," they corrected Micheal, pulling their jacket a little closer to their body and taking deep breaths to compose themselves. Just their luck then, that they'd find not one but two inconvenient variables hanging around some random antique shop in London. Fantastic. "Sorry for bumping into you there. I wasn't paying attention to where I was walking." Micheal might be a monster, but Gerry still had manners, and it was rude to accidentally fuse with someone like that. 

"What brings you to this shop, Gerry?" Micheal asked. "Hunting another book?" Gerry watched it swing the necklace around slightly. The edges of it warped as it moved in that slow arc, and Gerry had to rip their eyes away. 

"Maybe I was, maybe I wasn't," Gerry said vaguely, trying to ignore the feeling of the dog's eyes on his back. God, why was it that the Stranger seemed to borrow so much from the Eye, despite proclaiming to hate it? Really, he could do with less creepy staring in his life. "Doesn't really matter to you, does it?"

"There is no Leitner here," Micheal continued, seeming to disregard his question entirely. "Only a piece of I Do Not Know You waiting for a new home. Quite a nasty one, too. I have seen the thing before." Gerry perked up a little at that, despite themselves. Maybe Micheal would be willing to help them get rid of it. It did seem to have a particular distaste for the Stranger, if their first conversation was anything to go by. 

"Noticed it too, huh? Their artifacts are always a real pain to deal with. Think I'd rather deal with the Slaughter or the Desolation. At least those entities just try to kill me immediately," Gerry said. Was it fucked up that was the case? Probably. 

"I thought most people preferred not to be killed," Micheal said. "You are an odd one, Gerry. I wonder...what put you on this path of hunting and knowledge?" Gerry immediately decided that they did not like where this conversation was headed. Backstories were not a “third time meeting each other” event. Hell, he hadn't even really tried to discuss it with Mike. He and Jon had a heart to heart about it, but that had been a mutual experience, and he very much doubted that this knife-handed monster would be too keen to talk about their past. 

"I don't think there's a clear answer to that," Gerry said. They turned around (perhaps turning his back to this monster was a bad idea) and peered down the aisle back at the dog. It had moved, now lying down instead of sitting. Bold move. Unless it was trying to play some sort of mind game. He wouldn't put it past him. "At least not one you'd find interesting."

Micheal came up behind him, and for a horrifying moment Gerry envisioned his long claws driving through their stomach, tearing them apart. Thankfully, he instead decided to lean against and over their back, peering down the aisle at him. Gerry tried not to focus on their weight on his back, the strange shifting bones beneath his skin. He shivered a little remembering the feeling of sinking into the thing. "Are you planning on destroying it, bookburner? Or...perhaps in this case it would be artefact-burner." 

"Can't burn china. Nikola might know what to do with it if I ask," Gerry mumbled. "Can't risk trying to carry it out of here though. I don't want to know if that thing bites." Micheal made a small noise, light and airy and contemplative. It slinked off of him, and Gerry took a moment to breath in relief. They'd have to adjust to this new...element in their life, since it seemed that Micheal had decided that they were a person of interest to them. Gerry wasn't sure he liked that. He watched as Micheal picked the dog up with bare hands, and he tensed, sure that something horrendous was about to happen. But the dog remained still, and Micheal held it up slightly. The necklace from earlier was still hung around his wrist, spinning slightly. Gerry watched Micheal bring the statue close to his face, staring into the lifeless glass eyes. Gerry felt their skin prickle at the sight. Were they...communicating? Maybe it was better if they didn't know. 

Micheal turned to Gerry, smiling. The edges of that smile flickered in and out of existence the longer he stared. "I will keep it in my hallways until you find this...Nikola of yours. Does that sound agreeable?" Micheal asked. Gerry nodded, waiting patiently for his tongue to remove itself from the knot it had tied into. He had no clue why that little scene was so unsettling, but it was certainly there. Micheal began to approach them, and when Gerry glanced back, they saw a new silver door set into the side of a bookshelf. Despite themselves, they threw their arms out to stop them. Micheal stopped directly in front of him, frowning in a way that was distinctly unpleasant. Micheal's question went unasked, but not unanswered.

"We have to pay for that. I'm not robbing another store," he said. Micheal's frown slipped away, replaced with an amused grin. 

"You had no issue stealing that book," Micheal pointed out.

"Different. The owner wouldn't have sold it to me. Just...let me pay for it," Gerry said, gesturing to the till in the distance. Micheal nodded, slowly, stepping aside to let him lead the way. Gerry navigated his way back to the till, clearing his throat as he approached. The lady behind the desk looked up, smiling wide. A little...too wide. Gerry shook off their brief panic, recognizing it was probably the dog's doing. "I'd like to buy this little guy. How much?"

"Let me check it for you," the woman said, extending a hand out to take the dog from Micheal. Her hand brushed theirs and she winced slightly, but quickly composed herself. While the clerk was busy checking the dog for its price tag, Gerry shot Micheal a dirty look. They were, predictably, completely unapologetic. "It's seventeen pounds. We take cash or credit." Gerry nodded, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out their wallet. They pulled a twenty out of it, and proceeded to pay for the small china creature. 

Once they'd wrapped up in the little antiques shop, Gerry and Micheal went outside. Micheal disappeared for a moment, and returned without the dog. Gerry hoped it was keeping its word. "What are your plans for the rest of your day, Gerry?" they asked. Gerry wanted to sigh, but thought better of it. 

"Nothing you'd find interesting," Gerry said. "Not unless you want to watch me grocery shop." They began walking down the street, and Micheal followed. Gerry was...not surprised that it seemed interested in watching him shop. It seemed to enjoy the walk there, as if pretending to be human was a novelty for them. At some point, the necklace on Micheal's wrist went back to their neck. Every time he looked at the thing, the tattoo on his neck grew warm. They were hopeful that didn't translate to anything visual- they were getting enough strange looks as it was. 

Gerry went home that day, tired and with nothing to show for it except a bag of groceries and a new cut along his arm where Micheal had accidentally grabbed him. It was already five, so Gerry figured they could deal with anything else that needed to get done the next day. They put the groceries away, and then dragged themselves to the bathroom to wash their makeup off. As soon as that was done, they made their way to the small living area. Collapsing onto the couch, they only barely remembered to pop out their contacts before taking what sincerely felt like the best nap they'd had in a long time. 

  
  
  


Mike entered the apartment, dropping his jacket on the side table along with his keys and wallet and discarding his shoes. The air smelled like candle wax and burning wood, which Mike had to admit was a strange combination, but not altogether unpleasant. Jude always had that sort of smokey smell around her, just like he always smelled of ozone. He used to joke they should start a perfume line. "The Scents Of Fear, coming to a store near you" he had pitched once. Jude had just rolled her eyes, but they had gotten into a detailed discussion on what each perfume would smell like. They'd had a bit of a row over the Corruption, actually, which Mike hadn't expected. Then again, Jude and Jane were always hanging out, so there was probably some bias there. 

Mike found Jude sitting on the couch, with several reams of cloth piled on the table in front of her. She seemed to be typing something onto her phone, and she didn't look up when Mike casually sat down on the couch's arm. "What's with all the fabric?" Mike asked. Jude looked up from her phone, smiling slightly and then turning to scowl at the mess on her table.

"Annabelle left her stuff here and I'm trying to figure out how to return it. She was making something for Jane's birthday and I let her use my spare room to do it because Jane's staying with her right now and Annabelle didn't want to risk her seeing it early. But that was three months ago and the cloth was still in my spare room, and I actually need it now because one of my friends asked me to hold onto some things for our next ritual, and they can't just go anywhere because they're a bit volatile which means I have to keep them in a room separate from all my other Desolation stuff, but I can't do that if my room is full of sewing equipment," Jude said, tossing her phone onto the pile of shimmering, shifting fabrics. Mike nodded sympathetically. Once Nikola had left a blow-up clown balloon in his house for almost a year, so he could see it being frustrating having an entire room taken up by sewing equipment. At least Mike could stuff it into his closet and pretend like it didn't exist. Mostly. 

"You could see if Breekon and Hope are doing deliveries?" Mike suggested. "They're usually pretty easy to work with."

"Yeah, that would work. Probably what I'll do if Anna can't come and get her stuff soon. Kind of on a deadline. Anyway, were we finishing that rpg today?" Jude asked, standing up from her seat to scoop up the fabric. Her phone slipped out and clattered to the ground, making Mike wince. "Shit. If that's busted I'm gonna be pissed." Jude carried the bundle of fabric to a chair in the corner of the room and then went back for her phone. Thankfully, it was unharmed. 

"Yeah, that's what I figured we were going to do. What world are we on again?" Mike asked as Jude went to fiddle with her console. They'd been playing this...oddly haunted game for a few months now. It was some weird parody of Final Fantasy mixed with more Mario like gameplay, except all of the classes and characters seemed to be...well...fear-related. It was funny and a little disturbing, but a good way to pass the time. 

"Web world. Last one, I think," Jude said, tossing a controller at Mike, who just barely managed to catch it. She came back to the couch and sat cross-legged in the middle of it. Mike let himself lean sideways onto the couch so that he was basically hovering off the edge of it. Suspiciously, he didn't fall. Perks of being aligned with an entity that's all about gravity. Jude navigated through the console's cluttered interface till she found the game in question, and then booted it up. The familiar, eery tune of the title screen bounced around the room, an echoey quality attached to it. "How was that trip Italy?" 

Mike fiddled with his controller, cracking several knuckles in the progress. "It went well. Lots of tourists there. Hiked Mont Blanc and met this lovely couple on the way to the summit. They hadn't planned on hiking that far up, of course, but I can be very convincing," he said. Jude hummed thoughtfully, though she kept her eyes glued to the screen. Mike took that as permission to continue telling his story. "Apparently one of them was an ecologist or something. They were coming through to document...I think she was studying saxifraga or something like that. I wasn't too concerned with what they were doing up on the mountain." 

"Why didn't you take the cable car?" Jude asked as she got them to the world select screen. Mike took a moment to appreciate their little sprites. The character customization on this game had been...eerily thorough. Mike was almost a little worried it might have been too thorough. 

"Too easy, and too many people. I prefer isolated victims," Mike said. "You can really focus on making the experience more...personalized. You should have seen the look on that man's face when we finally made it to the top of the summit. Almost feel bad about it, really. Didn't even get to say goodbye to his wife." Jude navigated them to the next area of their quest, and then the game began for real. The overworld music for this area had a good beat to it, and Mike filed that thought away for later. Maybe he could sample a bit of it for one of their songs. "At least I didn't kill her. Though I very much doubt something else won't get to her now that she's had her first encounter."

"Any reason you spared her?" Jude asked. "I would have just killed them both. More fear that way." Mike paused for a moment before he answered to blast a giant spider off a cliff. He could almost hear Annabelle's offended gasp. But spiders were pretty fucking creepy, so he didn't really feel bad about it. 

"Longer she lives, the longer she can fear us," Mike said. "The dead don't fear anything." Jude hummed thoughtfully, leaning forward to get a better look at the screen. A shambling corpse went up in flames, and she smiled slightly.

"Suppose that's true. Do anything else while you were up there?" Jude asked. Mike thought for a moment, as his character ran across the screen to a seperate room. 

"Just took a few pictures for Gerry, did a bit of sight-seeing. I didn't have any real business up there. Simon came with me, something about an art exhibit he was looking into, but we didn't really see each other. You should come up there with us sometime. Think you'd like it," Mike said. Jude scoffed, but didn't say anything for a moment. Mostly because Mike was dragging a boss towards her. The conversation dissolved as the two of them silently focused on not losing this fight. Fears forbid they have to start over. 

Once that was over, Jude picked up where they had left off. "Sounds like you just want an excuse to toss me off the Alps, Mike," she teased. Mike rolled his eyes, but the memory of his burnt elbow stopped him from jabbing at her. 

"If I was going to kill you, Jude, It'd be more dramatic than tossing you off the top of a mountain. You would get something special," Mike said. The two of them paused before the final boss room. "First run through. Let's see how hard this is."

"Same here Mike. If I was going to kill you, I'd make it as dramatic as possible. Nothing but the best for such a good friend," Jude said as she quickly popped on a potion. "Here we go." 

Turns out, the boss was far harder than they had expected. They ran through it about seven times before they finally gave up for the day, in part because Jude was melting her controller. "Dinner?" Jude asked, standing up from the couch. Mike followed suit, ignoring the creaking of his back. Damn he felt old. "I was thinking that Greek place a couple blocks away." 

"Sounds good to me. My treat, I assume?" Mike asked. Jude walked briskly into the other room, presumably to get her coat, and Mike went to retrieve his shoes and keys from the entrance hall. He waited for her in the hall, and Jude came out about a minute later. 

"Of course. Gotta take advantage of that Fairchild bank account," Jude teased. Mike rolled his eyes as he pulled on his jacket. "Hey! I saw that! You're the one with some old rich guy giving you fuck-off amounts of money so you'll hang out with him."

"Actually, he gives me fuck-off amounts of money so I'll kill people for our god," Mike corrected, opening the door. "Besides, is it any different than you and Arthur?" With that, Mike immediately slid out the door and headed towards the street. Jude made a pissed off noise (though Mike knew she wasn't really upset) and chased after him. They both ran down the street and into the evening sky. Not literally, this time, but close enough. 


	5. Bloody Books

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike needed coffee. Not in the way one might crave something sweet as a treat, but as a necessity just as important as the air he breathed. Well, maybe air wasn't a necessity for him anymore, but the point still stood. Simon had dragged him to a party, and he'd had the worst night of his life. If he never had to see Gabriel ever again it would be too soon. Most Spiral avatars were a little unsettling, but Gabriel and Mike had never gotten along. The others he had met had been respectful enough to skirt any talk about their patron and keep their powers to themselves. Gabriel, however, seemed to find it hilarious to subtly distort the world around them, twisting the stupid baby blue napkins on the table into impossible shapes. Mike had a headache for the whole night. They hadn't been able to sleep at all, plagued by nightmares of that damned lichtenberg figure. Simon was so god damn lucky Mike hadn't attacked anyone that night because he had been so close to just ripping them apart. Maybe Gabriel was a decent person or whatever, but he took far too much joy in making Mike's life specifically hard. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW; Death, blood and gore, violence, body horror, fire, unreality, mentioned gun. 
> 
> I set out to write something short and end up with 7000 words. But hey, there's so much content in this! You'll love it! 
> 
> Also the title is a pun.

  
  


Gerry left his flat a few days later, lugging a bright blue suitcase behind him. He'd gotten word of a Flesh Leitner circulating in his area with some...bizarre effects on the reader, and he was determined to get to it as soon as possible. Unfortunately for him, he understood it to be in possession of a rather nasty avatar, so he was going to need significantly more supplies than normal. And they couldn't carry them openly, of course, because that would probably get them arrested. So the bright blue suitcase would have to do. The London streets were as busy as ever, and Gerry found himself feeling a little claustrophobic. Not to mention the odd looks they were getting, not that Gerry could blame people for being put off by a tall goth man covered in eyes with a cartoonishly large blue suitcase. Gerry would probably do a double-take as well. 

It took them roughly half an hour before they managed to find the right location. It was in a rather rough part of London, the sort of place where Gerry's torn-up clothing and harsh glare wouldn't stick out quite so much. The building was tucked away at the very end of the block, shaded by gnarled old trees and a broken street lamp. It felt sort of homey, in that odd way abandoned buildings always felt peaceful to Gerry. Even if this building in particular was anything but abandoned. Gerry dragged their suitcase onto the property, ducking behind the decaying wooden fence and moving to sort through what they'd brought. Aside from the change of clothes (the Flesh was always messy), they'd brought several knives, a hand-gun (which had been a pain in the ass to get, so Gerry hoped they wouldn't have to use it), multiple torches and a box of matches. They hadn't brought any accelerant, as they were hoping to avoid burning the whole building down. They just wanted to get in, get the book, and get out. If they had to kill the avatar to do so, they would, but Gerry wanted to avoid that if possible. It never felt right to kill someone, even if that someone had turned into a meat monster. 

They approached the front door of the building after stashing the knives, torches, and matches into the pockets of their jacket. They'd left their nicer one at home, seeing as they preferred to keep that one away from the messier cases. They'd probably have to burn these clothes anyway- the Flesh tended to leave permanent stains. This jacket didn't have the same feel to it, but Gerry was willing to sacrifice their comfort for practicality. As they slowly opened the front door, their grip tightened on their gun, their whole being tensing up. Luckily for Gerry, the avatar was not lying in wait just beyond the entrance of the door. Maybe they weren't in, and Gerry could get the chance to either grab the book and escape or hide before they got there. The element of surprise was all they had and they aimed to milk it. With light steps, they slipped into the home, which looked very similar on the inside to the condition of the outside. It seemed no one had lived here in quite some time. There was no furniture, and the walls were barren and falling apart in places. Gerry couldn't hear any pests, but the Beholding informed him there was a wasp's nest in the backroom. Luckily a mundane one, but still something to be avoided. Wasp stings weren't the worst pain Gerry had ever experienced, but they weren't enjoyable either.

They swept through the home's ground floor, dodging small piles of debris as they searched for any hint of the book or its owner. Yet there was nothing there, and Gerry grew worried that they'd have to head upstairs. As a rule, Gerry avoided putting more than one or two rooms between him and an exit, never-mind a whole floor. Especially with such a physical entity. When it was clear there was nothing to be found on the ground level, they steeled themselves and cautiously climbed up the stairs. They could feel their pulse rise as they approached the top, seeing the dancing shadows cast by the slowly moving trees creep along the top of the stairs. They took that final step, rounded the corner and...

Nothing. With the briefest of sighs, Gerry allowed themselves to bask in relief. No weird meat monsters here. Just an empty hallway with a single door at the end of it. Gerry really, truly hoped it was a normal door. They approached it with trepidation, feeling like at any moment something was going to bust through the walls out at him. Halfway down the hall, a floorboard made an especially loud noise, and they nearly jumped out of their skin. By the time they found their hand on the metal doorknob, they were sweating buckets. They turned it quickly, not wanting to risk chickening out once their brain caught up with their body.

At first, they didn't recognize what it was they were looking at. The thing was twisting around itself, a mass of pale flesh and exposed muscle. It was only when Gerry managed to drag their gaze up the towering, torn form that they saw the eyes fixed on them. They were a steel-grey, bloodshot, and unconnected from anything resembling a face. Its body pushed out limbs and bones and organs at random, desperately squirming as if it was trying to pull itself together. The skin peeled back in places, where beating hearts and wretched, pumping lungs jutted out. The thing's many mouths exhaled in tandem, gnashing teeth tearing outwards. One particularly bold shoulder blade tore upwards, spinning around itself until it was sharpened to a perfect point. Gerry felt like vomiting. Instead they clutched the gun tighter in their hands, trying not to panic. The Beholding began screaming at him that the Leitner was buried somewhere within the shambling monster's chest. Gerry was not looking forward to retrieving it.

Gerry's arm inched upwards to aim the gun, but the flesh mound was faster. Roaring, it rushed across the room towards them, and Gerry had to abandon his spot by the door. The gun clattered out of his hands and slid across the room. Gerry cursed, reaching into their jacket for a knife. They scrambled to their feet just as the creature tried to slam into them. Gerry readied their blade while the creature turned towards him again. They slammed the knife into its back, and felt the handle nearly disappear into it. Gerry cursed, yanking the knife out of it. The monster swiped at him, leaving bits of gore and blood all over Gerry's shirt. Gerry gagged, stumbling back and narrowly avoiding being hit again. They glanced down to their blade and found that the actual blade was gone. Gerry chucked it to the side and went for another one.

The thing slammed into him again, and this time they felt one of its bones scrape against their skin. They slashed at it, praying to whatever god might exist that they didn't vomit. The tear within its skin revealed still more bleeding organs. Gerry felt like their head was going to explode. They stabbed down between two or three ribs, trying to ignore the bellowing of the wounded and starving creature. Gerry managed to retrieve their knife intact, and quickly stumbled away to assess the situation. They had plenty of weapons, and if they had a moment they'd go for the gun. They just had to focus on not panicking and staying alive and in one piece. Easier said than done, but Gerry was not about to quit. The thing rushed at him again, and they steeled themselves for the blow, knife at the ready. 

This pattern continued for some time. Gerry would get a hit in, his knife would break, the creature would hit him, repeat ad nauseum. Seconds seemed to tick by, despite the fast pace of the fight, and Gerry was starting to feel worn out. Luckily, the monster was also slowing down. Gerry pulled out his last knife, and the creature reared up to slam into him. The two collided in the center of the room, and the knife pierced straight through its stomach. The creature shrieked, splitting open along the wound in its stomach. Gerry managed to close their eyes and mouth before the gore got into any of their orifices. The creature shuddered, falling to pieces around them. Gerry dropped their knife, breathing a sigh of relief. 

In the middle of the pile of gore and bones was a book. The title was obscured by all the viscera, but Gerry shoved the urge to pick it up and wipe away the bits of lung and shards of teeth, instead opting to remove the matches from their back pocket. They pulled one out, striking it against the side of the box until it lit. The light coming from the tiny, sputtering flame was almost soothing, after what had just happened. Gerry stood over the book, boots squelching in the blood. Gerry hoped desperately that there would be no skin trapped in them for him to dig out later. They surveyed the mess around them, bent blades and knife handles strewn among the mess of intestines and chunks of hair. With a pang of disgust, they dropped the match, and the book caught fire immediately. He watched the book slowly burn to nothing, the flesh around it catching as well. There was far too much blood for it to burn out of control, and as the last of the Leitner turned to ash and debris, Gerry stomped the flame out. They stood there, blood and gore soaking through their t-shirt, permeating their boots, coating their hands and face, matting their hair...it was just everywhere. They desperately needed to clean up. 

  
  
  
  


Gerry stumbled into the public bathroom of some small cafe feeling like death. The owner had asked repeatedly if he needed to call them an ambulance, but Gerry had politely insisted they were fine. They had dodged questions about what exactly had happened to them, mumbling something about a dead dog under their breath. It seemed to work, insofar as it gave the owner a convenient way to ease their nerves. Hopefully it would be enough to stop them from calling the cops. Gerry was getting sick of dealing with them, and half the sectioned officers in London knew him by name. Was it too much to ask for a little anonymity? London was the most surveilled city in the world, actually, so maybe it was a rather hefty request. Or maybe it was Eye bullshit making their life as difficult as humanly (inhumanly) possible. Whatever the case, it didn't change Gerry's need to get out of their clothing. Luckily the bathroom was single-stall, so he could have it to himself. They turned on the tap, reaching for a ream of paper towels and then shrugged their jacket off. They began to scrub the blood off their hands. He could hear their phone buzzing in the suitcase, but their priorities were more so focused on cleaning up. Hopefully the blood didn't stain the bathroom sink. 

They soaked some of the paper towels and began to scrub gore off their face and neck. The smell of generic hand soap was unpleasant, but it was far more tolerable than the feeling of intestines being glued to their skin. It took at least ten minutes to clean all of it off, and by the end the skin was slightly-pink and cleaner than it had ever been. It was a pain having to pick bits of gore out of their small beard, and Gerry shivered to think that perhaps there would still be some to find later. Once they had gotten as clean as he could, they turned their gaze to the rest of their clothes.Their shirt was practically glued to their skin, and after struggling to remove it properly, they relented and pulled a knife from their discarded jacket. Cutting through the fabric was heart-breaking, but the relief of cold, clean air on their skin was worth it. That left, of course, even more skin that needed to be scrubbed clean. They kicked off their blood-soaked boots and then went for the jeans. Those, at least, came off easily enough. They were left in their underwear, which thankfully didn't need to be replaced. They hadn't brought a spare pair with them. Turning once more to the sink, they grabbed more paper towels and set to work scrubbing the rest of their body. 

By the time they were finished cleaning themselves off, including having to wash their hair with shitty bathroom hand soap, they got dressed. After the skinny jeans glued to their skin with blood, the freedom of the long black skirt was heaven. The sweater was, admittedly, not their style, but most of their clothes were being washed, and the faded white sweater was the only thing of Jon's that fit them. They had socks, luckily, but their shoes were unwearable until they could give them a thorough cleaning, and they refused to use bathroom hand-soap on a decent pair of boots. The hair was already pushing it. They pulled the plastic bag from their suitcase and dropped their ruined clothes and shoes into them, resolving themselves to handle them later. Once they had rearranged things so that they looked somewhat presentable, they slipped out of the bathroom. Hopefully the walk to their flat wouldn't be unbearable without shoes. 

Upon exiting into the wider building, Gerry surveyed the busy cafe. It seemed normal on the surface, customers buzzing about and chatting amongst themselves, but something was off. The air seemed laden with something different. He glanced over to see a few baristas murmuring to themselves, casting glances over their shoulders before quickly turning back. They didn't seem to be nervous, but something was definitely up. Gerry followed the confused gaze of one of the baristas out the window and found themselves scowling once they processed what they were looking at. At least now they could identify the cause of the staff's unease now.

Sitting at an outdoor table was a man with long blonde curls dressed in the brightest outfit Gerry had ever seen. Clearly Micheal was doing this on purpose, as from the only other time Gerry had bumped into them in a more human form, they'd at least been attempting to blend in. Today however, they had ditched the pale blue sweater for a bright pink and white dress full of frills and lace. Gerry could see they'd drawn (or manifested) little red hearts all over their face and arms, and they had glasses to match. They were holding a fucking lace parasol, because apparently the dress simply wasn't enough lace, and seemed to be staring off into the distance completely unfazed by the whispering of passerby. It was not that Micheal was doing anything in particular to draw attention, or that their outfit was worth much more than a passing glance. It was something about the air around him. They seemed to stand out in a way that put people on edge, as they tried to reason with their odd fear. Micheal was exuding an aura of confusion and mystery that made them impossible to ignore. Gerry was going to pull out their hair; they really couldn't escape Micheal, huh? 

Gerry made their way over to Micheal, reluctant though he was. He figured trying to ignore it or walk away would only make the problem worse. Micheal looked towards him as he approached, and Gerry could feel how it was examining him. Gerry wasn't a bashful person, but even the most confident of people would shy away from those pale grey eyes. Gerry was a little impressed that they managed to keep those eyes looking so similar no matter the color. They always carried that haunting familiarity, the itch at the back of Gerry's head that there was something they were forgetting. Looking at him for too long made Gerry worry about the location of their keys (right back pocket) and whether they'd remembered to unplug the hairdryer (they didn't even own one). Gerry found their gaze as they wordlessly walked over to them to be too much, so they waved. Micheal beamed at the gesture, mimicking it in a way that was...disturbing. Obviously. This was a monster playing pretend at being human, a monster that would kill him as soon as it got the chance. Well, most of Gerry's friends were monsters of some kind, but Gerry had standards. Not very high ones, but they existed. 

Gerry made his way to the table, where a chair had been pushed out invitingly. Gerry shoved their suitcase beneath the table, and then sat down. He kept the chair far from the table, not quite comfortable enough to be close to those hands. They looked normal enough, but Gerry could still feel the bladed skin against their neck. The neck that still bore that unusual tattoo. Gerry swore they could feel it swirling on their neck. Gerry sat for a moment in silence, waiting for Micheal to say something. When the monster just continued to look at them, Gerry relented. "Nice weather we're having," they said nonchalantly, as if they were meeting up with some stranger instead of someone who had, in fact, threatened their life.

"That is one way of looking at the weather. Do you enjoy the clear sky?" Micheal asked. Gerry watched them mime taking a sip of their tea, which Gerry noted looked darker than he'd have expected, given their taste for gummy worms. 

"I guess. The color is nice. It's a bit too bright for my tastes," Gerry said, scratching at the side of their neck. It was so unbearably awkward sitting there. They'd known Micheal for at least a week, but they'd spent most of that bickering, with Micheal subjecting them to constant teasing and getting in the way of their investigation. It nearly drove them crazy. "What have you been up to?" 

"I have been....hmmm...attending to some business," Micheal said, tapping their fingers on the table. They sounded hollow. Gerry decided not to focus too hard on that thought. Their throat felt incredibly dry. They ought to have brought a water bottle with them. 

"I assume I don't want to know what 'business' entails for you?" Gerry asked. Micheal simply smiled at him, all pearly-white sharp teeth. It wasn't all that bad of a smile, actually. Not as unsettling as it should have been. Less predatory, certainly. If it weren't for the sharpened fangs and slightly-off number of them, Gerry would almost say it was handsome. Almost. 

"You do not. Unless you find yourself in need of a story," Micheal said, voice wavering between sickly sweet and grating. Their eyes darted towards the door of the cafe, which opened with a small chime. A barista approached them, leaning down to listen as Micheal mumbled something to them. They left shortly after, looking a little dazed. Gerry hoped that wasn't permanent. "You of I Know You are always so fascinated with those." Gerry scoffed. That was a new name for the Beholding. It sort of followed the pattern for the Stranger, I Do Not Know You. He could almost 

"Well, I'm sure you already know what I've been up to. You know, you only ever seem to show up when I'm hunting. You'd think that you were trying to aid the other powers by stalling me," Gerry said. Micheal frowned deeply, leaning over the table slightly. Gerry got the distinct feeling of something crawling up his back. He refused to check and give Micheal the idea that he was able to affect him. 

"Perhaps I simply find your activities interesting. Would you prefer I visit you some other time, bookburner?" Micheal asked. Gerry shrugged, having decided that not answering any direct questions was probably the best bet for his own sanity. Micheal leaned back into their own seat as someone placed down a cup of tea in front of Gerry. Gerry was hesitant to drink it, but Micheal's gaze seemed fixed on him. He took a sip, finding the tea was very close to his preferences. Micheal looked elated to see them drinking, going to take a sip of their own. Was Micheal that enamored with mimicking humanity? It reminded them of stories of Agnes and her coffee shop. At that thought, he chuckled a little, picturing a version of Micheal with fiery red hair. "What is so funny, Gerry?" 

"Nothing in particular. How did you know how I take my tea?" Gerry asked. They decided to ignore the question about their preferred visiting hours. They did not want to give them explicit or implicit permission to keep bugging them. They also couldn't tell them to piss off. It was a rather fine line to walk, but Gerry had always been good at skirting the edge of danger like that. 

"I guessed," Micheal said politely. Micheal's attention was caught by a slowly floating leaf falling in their hair. While Micheal's attention was focused on it, Gerry thought about what else they could talk about. It seemed rude to leave the table before they'd finished their tea. Micheal looked at the leaf in fascination, and then slipped it into their pocket. "You do not look like someone who would enjoy sweets, which is precisely why I chose it." 

"Fair enough. You don't look like a door-monster," Gerry said. "I'd expect you to eat cotton-candy instead of fear." Micheal laughed at that, a shrill, echoey thing. It bounced around Gerry's skull, rattling them up inside. Every time Micheal seemed to be teetering towards the edge of normalcy, they did something like that. For all their careful appearances of humanity, they sure were bad at acting human. Not that Gerry was any good at that either, and they were human. 

"You would be surprised at how similar they taste," Micheal said. "Fear is such a complex thing to consume. The flavor changes so drastically between individuals. Your own is certainly vastly different to others I have encountered." Gerry cringed at the idea that Micheal could taste their fear. They would simply never fear anything ever again. Actually, could all their friends taste their fear? Did like...Jude and Mike have opinions on how their fear tasted? Surely Mike would say something to him if that was the case. That felt like something a friend should tell them. 

"Of course they do. Do you...like music?" Gerry asked. At least that would be a conversation they could keep up with. Though, somehow the idea of Micheal listening to music was a little absurd. Did they have headphones? Perhaps they had a radio somewhere in those hallways. 

"I suppose I do. There is a wide variety of it, isn't there? Humans making noises at each other and calling it art...though I suppose there is some merit in it. I have seen some concerts. They are confusing places," Micheal said. There was a hint of dreaminess to its voice, like it was reminiscing on fonder times. Or thinking about a really good meal. Gerry decided not to follow that train of thought; he rarely wanted to think about his friends' eating habits. He especially did not want to think about the eating habits of his supernatural tag-along. "Do you have a preference?"

"I do, actually. I like...hard rock. Grunge. Gothic metal. I don't mind pop but it's not what I would listen to on my own," Gerry said. He took another sip of tea, disappointed to find it had already begun to cool down. They were never going to drink an entirely warm cup of tea in their life, apparently. "I used to listen to bands like Green Day and Third-Eye Blind on a little cd-player I took everywhere. It was my way of escaping my real life. It's what got me to pick up the guitar as a kid." 

"Interesting," Micheal murmured. With any other person, Gerry might have thought that was just a meaningless platitude, however, its voice seemed truly fascinated by their answer. It was almost a little embarrassing. "You play the guitar?"

"Yeah. Figured that might have been obvious. I've been told I look like I'm in a band," Gerry said. He went to gesture to his clothes, but remembered he wasn't really dressed like normal. He looked totally different, actually. Most of their makeup had been washed off, and the lack of shoes and brighter colors made them look almost sweet. Certainly less intimidating. "Well, maybe it's not obvious right now. You've seen how I usually dress though. I look like someone in a goth band." 

"People appear to be many things they are not," Micheal said. It thought for a moment, and then continued with,"Things pretend to be many people they are not." 

"Like you?" Gerry said. They instantly regretted it, seeing the stormy look that passed over Micheal's face. For a moment they braced themselves for an attack, but just as soon as it had arrived the anger passed. The dreamy smile returned to Micheal's face. Note to self: do not imply that Micheal is anything close to a person. It seemed language like that irritated him. 

"In a way. My turn to ask a question, then. Let's see," Micheal mused, making a strange little contemplative noise halfway between the buzz of an electrical fan and the whistle of wind through thick grass. Gerry was almost a little nervous for what they were going to ask. It felt dangerous to answer any question they might have. "What is your favorite season?" 

"Autumn, I guess. Never given that much thought, but I like Halloween and the weather is usually pretty nice," Gerry replied. It seemed a harmless enough question to answer, though undoubtedly Micheal would find some way to use it against them. At least their tricks never got old. "And you?" 

"I like most seasons. I do not...think I like winter," they said with a large frown. "To have concrete likes and dislikes is antithetical to our...to my nature. But I believe Micheal had a distaste for winter." It was an...odd answer. Micheal had slipped into referring to themselves in the third-person, with that hint of confusion in their voice. Then again, Gerry was starting to believe 'Micheal' was not all there was to him. Honestly, they doubted Micheal really existed aside from outward appearances. Like Nikola and her skins, it was probably just a very convincing costume. Gerry hid their reaction behind another sip of their tea. Surprisingly, they found that they had already finished it. How long had they been sitting with Micheal? Time was getting a little fuzzy for them. 

"Winter can get pretty dreary," Gerry said. There was silence for a few minutes, as Micheal finished their cup of tea (though whether it had actually drank it was a mystery), and was now staring off into the distance. Once Gerry could no longer stand the silence, they cleared their throat, searching anxiously for something to fill the space. "Got any hobbies?" Gerry immediately felt like slamming their head into the table. Because asking the door-monster whether it had any hobbies was such a good conversation topic.

"I suppose you could consider this a hobby," Micheal said, gesturing to the table. "Otherwise...no. Nothing you would consider to be a 'hobby', though I of course have my activities." Gerry nodded, scratching idly at the wooden table. Hopefully the employees wouldn't mind. 

"You spend a lot of time sitting at cafes and pretending to drink tea?" Gerry asked, raising one eyebrow very carefully. Micheal laughed a little, not quite as sharp as usual. 

"I was referring to conversing with you, bookburner. But yes, I do spend quite some time at this establishment. Lots of people come through here," Micheal said. Gerry tried not to grimace. Monsters were going to be monsters, best not to think of it. 

"Fun. The cafe thing, not following me around. One of these days you'll get dragged into one of my fights and then that won't be quite as entertaining," Gerry said. Micheal simply shook their head, dismissing the idea. Gerry couldn't tell if that was a good thing or not. 

"Bookburner, this has been fun. Unfortunately, I have business to attend to. We will have to catch up some other time," Micheal said, standing up. Gerry noticed that they were wearing knee-high white boots. They were actually really good looking- the boots. Gerry was referring to the boots. They'd ask where Micheal had gotten them, but knowing him, it was probably going to say something that made no sense. They dropped what appeared to be fifteen pounds on the table, and then left without another word. Gerry had almost forgotten to say goodbye, but luckily remembered to do so before it disappeared behind the new door lodged into a nearby light pole. He didn't want Micheal to think he was rude. Even if Gerry suspected they wouldn’t have cared either way. Standing up from the table, Gerry sighed, going to remove their phone from the suitcase. They'd have to call a cab, since walking home barefoot seemed like a bad decision. It was probably going to rain anyways, they could see clouds on the horizon. Some part of him thought that was probably fitting. 

  
  
  


Mike needed coffee. Not in the way one might crave something sweet as a treat, but as a necessity just as important as the air he breathed. Well, maybe air wasn't a necessity for him anymore, but the point still stood. Simon had dragged him to a party, and he'd had the worst night of his life. If he never had to see Gabriel ever again it would be too soon. Most Spiral avatars were a little unsettling, but Gabriel and Mike had never gotten along. The others he had met had been respectful enough to skirt any talk about their patron and keep their powers to themselves. Gabriel, however, seemed to find it hilarious to subtly distort the world around them, twisting the stupid baby blue napkins on the table into impossible shapes. Mike had a headache for the whole night. They hadn't been able to sleep at all, plagued by nightmares of that damned lichtenberg figure. Simon was so god damn lucky Mike hadn't attacked anyone that night because he had been so close to just ripping them apart. Maybe Gabriel was a decent person or whatever, but he took far too much joy in making Mike's life specifically hard. 

The coffee shop he had ended up at was a small, local place. They tended to have less customers, which meant less people to gawk at his scars or whisper behind his back, so Mike usually went there for his coffee. Maybe it wasn't the most upscale establishment, but he rarely drank coffee anyway. This was not a matter of taste, but a matter of efficiency. And besides, there would be less temptation to derail his day with a quick meal. Mike was generally a careful eater, but after the night he had, he couldn't trust himself not to indulge. Generally, he tried to kill as few people as possible, not because he felt bad about it, but because too many disappearances would be a cause for alarm. He generally didn't leave enough left for his victims to be declared dead, by natural means or otherwise. 

He entered the coffee shop and found it to be delightfully deserted. Aside from the barista idly tending to the counter, there was only one other person within the building. It took Mike a moment to recognize him, especially since he was facing away from Mike, but as he approached he recognized the tiny bat earrings dangling from the man's earlobe. Once that detail stood out, it was easy for the rest to instantly become recognizable, at least vaguely. Mike sat down on the stool next to him, politely leaning against the counter. The barista looked over to him, immediately shuffling around to grab their notepad. "Hey Oliver," Mike said. "Nice to see you."

Oliver turned to look at him. Mike noted he was drinking out of a warm looking white mug, his bright blue nail polish creating a sharp contrast. The barista approached the two of them before Oliver could respond. "Hello, welcome to the Bitter Bean Cafe, what can I do for you today?" they asked. Mike turned to them, smiling politely. He ordered his usual, a small latte, and then turned back to Oliver. 

"Nice to see you too, Mike. How've you been?" Oliver asked.

"Pretty good. Still searching for that Hunt Leitner, but otherwise I haven't been too busy. What about you?" Mike asked. He had no real idea what Oliver got up to in his free time. Mike had only recently met him after all. Sure, he knew of Oliver, there weren't many End avatars in London after all, but he'd never had the chance to actually meet him in person. Until he joined Nikola's band, of course. Maybe it wasn't all that bad he'd been roped into participating. 

"I've been fine I suppose. I don't have much to do myself right now. Been a rather slow month for the Corpse Routes. Mostly I've just been writing songs for the band and hanging out with Annabelle and Nikola. Sometimes I come here and just people-watch for a bit. Never seen you around here before," Oliver said. The barista came back with Mike's drink, placing it in front of him. Mike thanked them quietly, taking a small sip. It was....well, coffee. It was cheap and had caffeine in it, and that was all Mike cared about. 

"I don't usually drink coffee," Mike explained. "But Simon dragged me out to a party last night, so i was out late. I needed the caffeine when I woke up this morning, and figured I should get out of the flat anyway. Not that I don't leave the flat enough as it is, I just figured a change in scenery was in order. Otherwise I'd be drinking tea in my flat. How's the song writing?" 

"It's going well. I'm working on the piece Jude suggested right now. It was a bit difficult to start it. I couldn't seem to nail the opening, but I think I've figured it out. Hopefully everyone likes it," Oliver said, taking another sip of his coffee. His lip piercing clinked with the mug almost musically. Mike should really stop staring at his lips, it was rude. He averted his gaze, pretending to be really, really interested in the wood graining of the counter. 

"I'm sure they will. Is it just you writing the music right now?" Mike asked. 

"No, Annabelle and Jane are writing as well. I think Jane's working on Simon's suggestion right now. She texted the groupchat last night asking Nikola if she knew how to play the flute. Nikola immediately was like: Jane I don't have lungs, why would I be able to play the flute? Then Jane pointed out Nikola also didn't have a stomach but she'd seen her eat and that sparked a whole debate on how necessary organs are...wait, why aren't you in the band chat?" Oliver asked, as if it had suddenly occurred to him that it was odd Mike wasn't there. Mike shrugged, though he knew the reason was that he refused to give Nikola his Facebook. She did not need to have access to his embarrassing high school photos, thank you very much. Jude usually texted him important information anyway. 

"So, can Nikola play the flute?" Mike asked. He took a moment to roll his shoulders, feeling them begin to get stiff. Muscle damage aside, Mike had a tendency to keep himself too tense. It was wreaking havoc on his back, but Mike figured that was a problem for Future Mike to deal with. Future Mike was probably going to hate him. 

"Yeah, she can. She was just giving Jane a hard time," Oliver said, snorting a little. "Aside from band stuff, though, I haven't been doing much. Really ought to change that though. I think if I watch one more Netflix documentary I'll meld with my couch. At least it gives me something to talk about with my coworker. Aside from all the occult stuff, obviously."

"Occult stuff?" Mike asked. "What kind of occult stuff?" The door to the coffee shop opened, and a group of three people approached the counter, talking amongst themselves. They looked about university age, and exactly like the sort of people Mike might have hung out with in university if he hadn't been chasing Leitners. He almost regretted losing those years to his hunt, but if he hadn't he doubted he'd be where he was today. Certainly he never would have met Gerry. It was a small sacrifice, all things considered. 

" Oh. I work at a magic shop. We sell tarot cards and crystals and incense, things like that. A lot of herbs and spices as well. Sometimes we got the odd book or so, usually just beginner texts. Usually it's just me and Anthony in the store during the week. There are theoretically two other employees, but I've never actually met them. Think one of them works after-hours and the other works during the weekend with the owner. We were talking about some book on demonology we'd just had stocked. Reckon it's a bit too niche for most of our customers, but Anthony thinks it'll sell well." 

"Sounds like a nice job. Do you practice, then?" Mike asked. He knew some things himself, not because he was actively a practitioner (he didn't have the patience) but because Jon had a friend who was. Jon sometimes talked about little things she was doing, or brought home something he'd picked up because of her. Mike was vaguely sure they also did some sort of witchcraft, something about plants if he was remembering correctly. 

"Not really. It all seems fairly interesting, but I don't know if it's for me. Had a few people think I was some sort of fortune-teller because of my dreams. This was before I really knew what they were of course. But even if I don't practice myself, I've found most witch communities to be pretty nice places to be," Oliver explained. Mike nodded, waiting for a moment to see if Oliver would continue to speak. "If you don't mind me asking, what do you do for a living?" The barista began talking to the group of friends at the counter, and Mike winced at the influx of noise. It was hard to think with so much going on in the background. 

Mike took a sip of his coffee, trying to think of the easiest way to explain his occupation. If you could call it that. "Well, I deal in rare books sometimes. Usually it's just because I'm looking for Leitners, but when you're trying to get your hands on a cursed book, you end up moving around a lot of mundane ones. Most of my money comes from Simon, though. I guess I technically do work for a couple Fairchild businesses, but really I just tag along when Simon needs someone to join him for meetings or fill out paperwork. Usually I don't have much to do, he just drops money into my bank account once a week," Mike said. 

"I didn't think the Fairchilds hired outside their family," Oliver mused. "Then again, I'm not sure how they operate at all. For such open people they sure are mysterious." Mike snorted, covering his mouth. "What's so funny?"

"I know they look cool, but the Fairchild family is just a bunch of eccentric, rich theatre kids. All of them. If you think the Lukases are a bunch of clowns, the Fairchilds are a whole circus. Last month I got dragged to someone's birthday party and the night ended with someone filling half the house with Orbeez. Simon regularly starts fights among the other members for the hell of it. Someone referred to David as an 'overgrown ostrich' the other day and he flooded their house for a week. The Fairchild family is held together by half a dozen loose strings and a collective need to look better than the Lukases." Oliver laughed at that, and Mike nearly died realizing he had dimples. He was trying to kill him, that was the only explanation. He hated it when potential friends were also incredibly attractive.

"That does sound like a handful to deal with. You're a real warrior for putting up with them," Oliver said. The barista began stacking cups somewhere in the corner of his line of sight. Mike had to very deliberately ignore the sound of the china clinking together, otherwise he wouldn't be able to focus. 

"Yeah, well, someone has to do it," Mike said. He took the last sip of his coffee, which was excellent as it was starting to get cold. The group of friends from earlier had migrated over to a table in the corner of the shop, and their quiet chattering was starting to blend into background noise. Mike heard a buzzing noise, and watched as Oliver removed his phone from his back pocket. He glanced at the screen, frowned, and then shoved his phone back into his pocket. 

"I have to let my roommate into the apartment, she forgot her keys again. Sorry to cut our conversation short," Oliver said, standing up. He pulled out his wallet and began rifling through it. 

"Oh no, it's alright. It was nice talking to you," Mike said. He felt someone's gaze on his back and immediately pulled his scarf in closer. He should probably be leaving himself, honestly. He could almost sense the incoming influx of customers, and he knew a busy coffee shop would get too loud for him. He hadn't thought to bring his earplugs, and even if he had, he didn't really have anything to do. "We should hang out again sometime. This was nice."

Oliver smiled softly at him and Mike nearly died on the spot. "We should," Oliver replied. The barista came over to them, and Oliver handed them some money. "Don't worry about your drink, Mike. It's on me." 

Mike nearly protested, but decided against it. Oliver was being nice and he didn't want to seem ungrateful, even if he could pay for his own drink, and probably should. Instead, he said," Thank you. I'll be sure to return the favor next time." 

"Sounds like a plan to me. See you Mike," Oliver said. Mike waved goodbye as the taller man strode away from the counter and out the door of the shop. Mike sat there for a little while longer, just to avoid that awkward moment where you've already said goodbye but are walking in the same direction, so you feel forced to say something else but have no clue exactly what to say. Once he'd decided it'd be unlikely they'd bump into each other, he made his way out as well. Since he was already out, he figured he could check out a few new leads. And with that thought, his mind drifted away from tiny coffee shops and dimples to a more familiar world of cursed books, as the rain began to fall from the darkened skies. 


End file.
